Part 4 (2/2)
How did you come to be Annesley?”
”It was part of my mother's maiden name. She was an Annesley-Seton.”
”There's a Lord Annesley-Seton, isn't there?”
”Yes.”
”Related to you?”
”A cousin. But Grayle isn't a name in their set. He and his wife have forgotten my existence. I'm not likely to remind them of it.”
”His wife was an American girl, wasn't she?”
”How odd that you should know!”
”Not very. I remember there being a lot in the papers about the wedding six or seven years ago. The girl was very rich--a Miss Haverstall. Her father's lost his money since then.”
”How _can_ you keep such uninteresting things in your mind--just now?”
”They're not uninteresting. They concern you!”
”Lord Annesley-Seton's affairs don't concern me, and never will.”
”I wonder?” said Smith, looking thoughtful; and the girl wondered, too: not about her future or her relatives, but what the next few minutes would do with this strange young man, and how at such a time he could bear to talk commonplaces.
”If you're trying to keep me from being nervous,” she whispered, ”it's not a bit of use! I can't think of anything or any one except those men.
They've stopped whispering. But they're looking at you. Now--they're getting up. They're coming toward us!”
CHAPTER IV
THE GREAT MOMENT
The men were staring so keenly at ”Mr. N. Smith” that it seemed to Annesley he must feel the stab of eyes, sharp as pin-p.r.i.c.ks, in his back.
He had the self-control, however, not to look round, not even to change expression. No man in the restaurant appeared more calmly at ease than he.
The couple had accompanied their stare with eager whisperings. Then, as if on some hasty decision, they pushed back their chairs and got up.
Taking a few steps they separated, approaching Smith on right and left.
One, therefore, stood between him and Annesley as if to prevent an exchange of words or glances. There was something Eastern and oddly alien about them in spite of their conventional clothes.
”Mr. Michael Varcoe!” said the bigger and older, he who stood on the left of Smith. The other kept in the background, not to crowd with conspicuous rudeness between Annesley and her host. The man who spoke had a thick voice and a curious accent which the girl, with her small experience, was unable to place.
”No,” answered ”Smith,” in a puzzled tone. ”You mistake me for someone else.”
”I think not,” insisted the bearded man, in a hostile drawl. ”I _think_ not!”
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