A lady and a gentleman
were there. The lady, I surmised, would have been unusually good-looking
had her features not been clouded by an expression of keen worry and
fatigue. She was of a style of figure and possessed coloring and
features that were agreeable to my fancy. She was in a traveling dress;
she fixed upon me an earnest look of extreme anxiety, and pressed an
unsteady hand to her bosom. I think she would have started forward, but
the gentleman arrested her movement with an authoritative motion of his
hand. He then came, himself, to meet me. He was a man of forty, a little
gray about the temples, and with a strong, thoughtful face.
"Bellford, old man," he said, cordially, "I'm glad to see you again. Of
course we know everything is all right. I warned you, you know, that you
were overdoing it. Now, you'll go back with us, and be yourself again in
no time."
I smiled ironically.
"I have been 'Bellforded' so often," I said, "that it has lost its edge.
Still, in the end, it may grow wearisome. Would you be willing at all to
entertain the hypothesis that my name is Edward Pinkhammer, and that I
never saw you before in my life?"
Before the man could reply a wailing cry came from the woman.
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