smile as he was by the subtle change in her manner which had come with
the lighting of that match.

"And it _was_ nice of you to tell me that polite story at the
beginning," she said. "And quick--and clever. When I heard the front
door burst open, the first thing I thought of, really, was that it must
be you."

"I can't think," he said, unable to take his eyes off her, "what in the
world you are talking about."

She laughed with something of an effort, and sat down exquisitely in a
cruel cane chair. "Well, then--_do_ you forgive me for taking possession
of your house like this? You will, won't you? I can't be silly, now, and
pretend not to know you. But really I never dreamed that you--"

"Is it possible," he broke in stormily, "that you are mistaking me for
that insufferable Stanhope?"

She looked at him startled, dumfounded; in her eyes amazement mingled
with embarrassment; then her brow wrinkled into a slow, doubtful smile.

"Oh-h--I beg your pardon! I--did n't understand. But is it my fault that
I've seen your picture a hundred times? Yes, I suppose it is; for, at
the risk of making you crosser still, I'll confess that I--I cut it out
and framed it."

Varney leaned his elbow on the mantel and faced her.

"You have made a mistake," he said. "I am not Mr. Stanhope."