She noticed how
they all wore a bored expression, as if it were with much of an
effort that they had gone out to supper.
"Don't move! Keep looking like that," cried Windebank suddenly.
"Why?" she asked, quickly turning to him.
"Now you've spoiled it," he complained.
"Spoiled what?"
"Your expression. Good heavens!"
The exclamation was a signal for retrospection on Windebank's part.
When he next spoke, he said:
"Is your name, by any wonderful chance, Mavis Keeves?"
"What?"
"Answer my question. Is your name Mavis Keeves: Mavis Weston Keeves
in full?"
"You know it isn't. That woman told you what it was."
"She didn't tell you my name, and I thought she might have done the
same by you. And when I saw that expression in your face--"
"Who is Mavis Keeves?"
"A little girl I knew when I was a kid. She'd hair and eyes like
yours, and when I saw you then--but you haven't answered my
question. Is your name Mavis Weston Keeves?"
Mavis had decided what to reply if further directly questioned.
"No, it isn't," she answered.
"Confound! I might have known. It's much too good to be true."
While Mavis was tortured with self-reproach at having told a lie,
soup, in gilt cups, was set before Windebank and Mavis, the latter
of whom was more than ever resolved to accept no hospitality from
the man who appeared sincerely anxious to befriend her.
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