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. The fact of her having told
him a lie seemed, in the eyes of her morbidly active conscience, to put
her under an obligation to him, an indebtedness that she was in no mind
to increase. She folded her hands on the napkin, and again looked about
her.

"Don't you want that stuff?" Windebank asked.

"No, thank you."

"Neither do I. Take it away!"

The waiters removed the soup, to substitute, almost immediately, an
appetising preparation of fish. At the same time an elderly,
important-mannered man poured out wine with every conceivable
elaboration of his office.

"Don't refuse this. The place is famous for it," urged Windebank.

"You know what I said. I mean it more than ever."

"Don't you know that obstinacy is one of the seven deadly sins?"

"Is it?"

"If it isn't, it ought to be. Do change your mind."

"Nothing will make me," she replied icily.

He signalled to the waiters to remove the food.

"What a jolly night we're having!" he genially remarked, when the men
were well out of hearing.

"I'm afraid I've spoiled your evening."

"Not at all. I like a good feed. It does one good."

Mavis would have been hard put to it to repress a smile at this remark,
had she not suddenly remembered how she had left her purse in the
pocket of the frock that she had left behind her at Mrs Hamilton's; she
realised that she would have to walk to Mrs Bilkins's. The fact of
having no money to pay a 'bus fare reminded her how the cab was waiti