I protest that my action in playing the spy upon these two strangers was without assignable motive.
It was one of which I might or might not be ashamed, according to my estimate of the character of the person finding it out. As an essential part of a narrative educed by your question it is related here without hesitancy or shame.
A week later John took me to the house of his prospective father-in-law, and in Miss Margovan, as you have already surmised, but to my profound as-tonishment, I recognized the heroine of that discred-itable adventure. A gloriously beautiful heroine of a discreditable adventure I must in justice admit that she was; but that fact has only this importance:
her beauty was such a surprise to me that it cast a doubt upon her identity with the young woman Ihad seen before; how could the marvellous fascina-tion of her face have failed to strike me at that time? But no--there was no possibility of error; the difference was due to costume, light and general surroundings.
John and I passed the evening at the house, endur-ing, with the fortitude of long experience, such deli-cate enough banter as our likeness naturally sug-gested. When the young lady and I were left alone for a few minutes I looked her squarely in the face and said with sudden gravity:
'You, too, Miss Margovan, have a double: I saw her last Tuesday afternoon in Union Square.'
She trained her great grey eyes upon me for a moment, but her glance was a trifle less steady than my own and she withdrew it, fixing it on the tip of her shoe.
'Was she very like me?' she asked, with an in-difference which I thought a little overdone.
'So like,' said I, 'that I greatly admired her, and being unwilling to lose sight of her I confess that Ifollowed her until--Miss Margovan, are you sure that you understand?'
She was now pale, but entirely calm. She again raised her eyes to mine, with a look that did not falter.
'What do you wish me to do?' she asked. 'You need not fear to name your terms. I accept them.'
It was plain, even in the brief time given me for reflection, that in dealing with this girl ordinary methods would not do, and ordinary exactions were needless.
'Miss Margovan,' I said, doubtless with some-thing of the compassion in my voice that I had in my heart,' it is impossible not to think you the victim of some horrible compulsion. Rather than impose new embarrassments upon you I would prefer to aid you to regain your freedom.'
She shook her head, sadly and hopelessly, and Icontinued, with agitation:
'Your beauty unnerves me. I am disarmed by your frankness and your distress. If you are free to act upon conscience you will, I believe, do what you conceive to be best; if you are not--well, Heaven help us all! You have nothing to fear from me but such opposition to this marriage as I can try to justify on--on other grounds.'
These were not my exact words, but that was the sense of them, as nearly as my sudden and conflict-ing emotions permitted me to express it. I rose and left her without another look at her, met the others as they re-entered the room and said, as calmly as I could: 'I have been bidding Miss Margovan good evening; it is later than I thought.'
John decided to go with me. In the street he asked if I had observed anything singular in Julia's manner.
'I thought her ill,' I replied; 'that is why I left.'
Nothing more was said.
