’ It was the Press who forced the identity upon me. . ‘Read that,’ and threw the telegram at me, so that it went into the tureen. ” He sat for a moment, absorbing. He remembered that he had heard stories about the wonderful likeness between these two sisters, one of whom was an artist and a recluse, whilst the other had attached herself to a very gay and a very brilliant little coterie of pleasure-seekers. “Some day you will be my wife, and it would not be well for either of us to remember that in these unhappy days you and I were separated. She treaded down the hall swiftly but stopped abruptly when she heard a voice in back of her. Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. “It has all been a mistake, hasn’t it?” “No more talking,” the doctor interposed.
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