“That makes it more singular than ever,” murmured my beautiful friend.

“Does it?  Why?”

“Because when the parents speak of that child now, they always call it Susan Amelia.”

That spiked my gun.  I could not say anything.  I was entirely out of verbal obliquities; to go further would be to lie, and that I would not do; so I simply sat still and suffered —­sat mutely and resignedly there, and sizzled—­for I was being slowly fried to death in my own blushes.  Presently the enemy laughed a happy laugh and said: 

“I have enjoyed this talk over old times, but you have not.  I saw very soon that you were only pretending to know me, and so as I had wasted a compliment on you in the beginning, I made up my mind to punish you.  And I have succeeded pretty well.  I was glad to see that you knew George and Tom and Darley, for I had never heard of them before and therefore could not be sure that you had; and I was glad to learn the names of those imaginary children, too.  One can get quite a fund of information out of you if one goes at it cleverly.  Mary and the storm, and the sweeping away of the forward boats, were facts—­all the rest was fiction.  Mary was my sister; her full name was Mary ------.  Now do you remember me?”

“Yes,” I said, “I do remember you now; and you are as hard-headed as you were thirteen years ago in that ship, else you wouldn’t have punished me so.  You haven’t change your nature nor your person, in any way at all; you look as young as you did then, you are just as beautiful as you were then, and you have transmitted a deal of your comeliness to this fine boy.  There—­if that speech moves you any, let’s fly the flag of truce, with the understanding that I am conquered and confess it.”

All of which was agreed to and accomplished, on the spot.  When I went back to Harris, I said: 

“Now you see what a person with talent and address can do.”

“Excuse me, I see what a person of colossal ignorance and simplicity can do.  The idea of your going and intruding on a party of strangers, that way, and talking for half an hour; why I never heard of a man in his right mind doing such a thing before.  What did you say to them?”

I never said any harm.  I merely asked the girl what her name was.”

“I don’t doubt it.  Upon my word I don’t.  I think you were capable of it.  It was stupid in me to let you go over there and make such an exhibition of yourself.  But you know I couldn’t really believe you would do such an inexcusable thing.  What will those people think of us?  But how did you say it?—­I mean the manner of it.  I hope you were not abrupt.”

“No, I was careful about that.  I said, ’My friend and I would like to know what your name is, if you don’t mind.’”

“No, that was not abrupt.  There is a polish about it that does you infinite credit.  And I am glad you put me in; that was a delicate attention which I appreciate at its full value.  What did she do?”