While he
was impatiently pacing by the side of the water and anxiously looking
along the path by which he expected she would come, a lady whose dress
was in the height of the mode and masked approached him. In those days a
mask did not necessarily imply mystery. A mask was worn to serve as a
veil and a woman with her features thus hidden did not excite more
attention than that of mere curiosity. Vane had noticed her turning her
face towards him as she passed, but thought nothing of it.
Suddenly she stopped, stepped back a pace and whispered softly:--
"Mr. Vane, is it not?"
"That is my name, madam."
"Ah, I hoped I was not mistaken. You don't remember me?"
"I beg your forgiveness if I say I do not."
"Nor a certain night not long ago when you were flying from a ruffianly
mob and you sought the shelter of my house? But may be you've a short
memory. Mine isn't so fleeting. Men's kisses are lightly bestowed. Women
are different. I shall never forget the tender touch of your lips."
She sighed, lifted her mask for a moment and replaced it. To Vane's
infinite confusion he recognised Sally Salisbury.
"Madam," he faltered, "I--I venture to suggest that you're under a
misapprehension. It was not I who kissed."
Sally drew herself up with a disdainful air. She had a fine figure and
she knew how to display it.
"What?" she cried. "Do you dare to deny your farewell embrace?"
"Madam--really I----"
He was more embarrassed than ever.
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