” “It wouldn’t be you either. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. She was reasonably certain why. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. No doubt— because he did not understand you—he thought you had run away with someone. It had neither succumbed to her nor wrathfully overwhelmed her. "May I beg to know whom I've the pleasure of adressing? Jackson, I conclude, is merely an assumed name.
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