Nothing else."
The waiter bowed and hurried off. The woman played with her fan
but her fingers were shaking.
"I fear," he remarked, "that my coming is rather a shock to you.
I am sorry to see you looking so distressed."
"It is not that," she answered with some show of courage. "You
know me too well to believe me capable of seeking a meeting which
I feared. It is the strange thing which has happened to you
during these last few months--this last year. Do you know--has
any one told you--that you seem to have become even more like
--the image of--"
He nodded understandingly.
"Of poor Wenham! Many people have told me that. Of course, you
know that we were always appallingly alike, and they always said
that we should become more so in middle-age. After all, there is
only a year between us. We might have been twins."
"It is the most terrible thing in likenesses I have ever seen,"
the woman continued slowly. "When you entered the room a few
seconds ago, it seemed to me that a miracle had happened. It
seemed to me that the dead had come to life."
"It must have been a shock," the man murmured, with his eyes upon
the tablecloth.
"It was," she agreed, hoarsely. "Can't you see it in my face? I
do not always look like a woman of forty. Can't you see the gray
shadows that are there? You see, I admit it frankly. I was
terrified--I am terrified!"
"And why?" he asked.
"Why?" she repeated, looking at him wonderingly.
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