"Really!" says she. "How odd! I—I used to know a young man of that name—a pushing, presuming, impudent fellow. In fact, he had the audacity to call on me several times. He was quite impossible socially; uncouth, awkward, rough spoken. A mere clerk, I believe. And I—well, I was rather a belle that season, I suppose. At least, I did not lack suitors. A brilliant season it was for me too, my first. Our dinners, receptions, dances, were affairs of importance. How this raw Middle-Westerner came to be invited I've forgotten. Through my father, I presume. I had hardly noticed him among so many. At least, I am sure I never gave him an excuse for thinking that he could— Oh, it was outrageous. I had been trying to dance with him and had given it up. We were in the little conservatory, watching the others, when—well, I found myself in his arms, crushed there. He—he was kissing me violently. I suppose I must have screamed before I fainted. Anyway, there was a scene. He was given his hat and coat, shown the door. Father was in a rage. Of course, after that he was ostracized. I never saw him again, never forgave him. And now— Do you think this can be the same Mr. Ellins? He sent you to me, did he not? Did he mention anything about—"
