I. A. R. Wylie

“ Am I, for instance, really the Count Louis de Beaulieu?"
She looked at him in quick surprise.
"Of course," she said.
"And you are Mademoiselle Theodora de Melville?"
She nodded without speaking and he hesitated, knowing that he was near delicate ground, yet desperately anxious to know more.
"I know I sound like an inquisitor," he went on humbly, "but you must have patience with me. You can treat me as a sort of harmless lunatic if you like, but remember that you are the only person who can help me. Won't you tell me something more—tell me, for instance, where you live?" ”

“ Let me take off your furs for you—so. Are you comfortable? Is it too warm for you?"
She smiled up into his eager face and the smile transfigured her. Monsieur de Beaulieu forgot to look away.
"At any rate you have remembered how to be nice," she said. "Thank you—I am very comfortable. Won't you sit down—over there?"
The gentle reminder recalled him to himself and he bowed stiffly.
"Thank you, Mademoiselle—"
"Don't be offended." There was now a suspicion of genuine laughter in her grey eyes. "You see, we are starting life all over again." ”

“ Monsieur de Beaulieu adjusted his eyeglass with the air of a man who sees his way clear.
"Then it seems to me that we can go ahead without compunction," he remarked. "Theodora—"
She rose.
"I have the honour to wish you good-morning, Count."
"Where are you going?"
She shrugged her shoulders.
"That, my friend, is no longer your affair."
"Excuse me!" He rose and faced her. "I have been thinking it over," he said slowly and distinctly. "It's too long a business to start life all over again. If you have no objection we will begin where we left off, Theodora." ”