I waited with beating heart for him to finish his coffee.  It seemed to me that I could hardly wait for him to speak.  For I had a psychic presentiment that before he left the table he would make known to us the reason for his rude pursuit of me.

His first words confirmed my impression: 

“I am afraid, Mrs. Graham,” he said, courteously, turning to me, as he finished his coffee, “that I have startled and alarmed you by my endeavor to ascertain your identity.”

I did not answer him.  I did not wish to tell him that I had been frightened; neither could I truthfully deny his assertion.  And I wished that I had not evaded my mother-in-law’s query concerning him.

He did not appear to heed my silence however, but went on rapidly: 

“It is a very simple matter, after all,” he said.  “You see, you resemble so closely a very dear friend of my youth, in fact, the dearest I ever had, that when I caught sight of you the other day in the reception room of the Sydenham, it seemed as if her very self stood before me.”

There was a vibrant, haunting note in his voice that told me, better than words, that, whoever this woman of his youth might have been, her memory was something far more to him than of a mere friend.

“I could not rest until I found out your identity, and secured an introduction to you,” he went on.  “You will not be offended if I ask you one or two rather personal questions, will you?”

“Indeed, no,” I returned mechanically.

Mr. Gordon hesitated.  His suave self-possession seemed to have deserted him.  He swallowed hard twice, and then asked, nervously: 

“May I ask your name before you were married, Mrs. Graham?”

“Margaret Spencer,” I returned steadily.

There was a cry of astonishment from Dicky.  Mr. Gordon had reeled in his chair as if he were about to faint, then, with closed eyes and white lips, he sat motionless, gripping the table as if for support.

“Do not be alarmed—­I am all right—­only a momentary faintness, I assure you.”

Mr. Gordon opened his eyes and smiled at us wanly.

I knew that Dicky was as much relieved as I at our guest’s return to self-command.  That he was resentful as well as mystified at the singular behavior of Mr. Gordon I also gleaned from his darkened face, and a little steely glint in his eyes.

“I hope that you will forgive me,” Mr. Gordon went on, and his rich voice was so filled with regret and humility that I felt my heart soften toward him.

“I trust you have not gained the impression that my momentary faintness had anything to do with your name,” he said.  “My attack at that time was merely a coincidence.  I am subject to these spells of faintness.  I hope this one did not alarm you.”

He looked at me directly, as if expecting an answer.