longside her as she
moved on back up the boardwalk. Plainly her amazing resemblance to
someone else was once more the uppermost subject in his mind. He went
back to it.

"I've heard before now of dual personalities," he said, "but this is my
first actual experience with a case of it. When I first saw you standing
there with your back to me and even when you turned round facing me
after I spoke to you, I was ready to swear that you were Mrs. Beeman
Watrous. Look, manner, size, voice, hair, eyes--all identical. I know
her very well too. I've been a guest at one or two of her house parties.
It's curious that you never heard of her, Mrs. Propbridge; she's the
widow of one of the Wilmington Watrouses--the firearms people, you
know--guns, rifles, all that sort of thing--and he left her more
millions than she knows what to do with."

Now Mrs. Propbridge had never heard of any Wilmington Watrouses, but
plainly, here in the East they were persons of consequence--persons who
would be worth knowing.

She nodded as though to indicate that now she did faintly recall who it
was this kindly stranger had meant.

He went on. It was evident that he was inclined to be talkative. The
impression was conveyed to her that here was a well-meaning but rather
shallow-minded gentleman who was reasonably fond of the sound of his own
voice. Yet about him was nothing to suggest over-effusiveness or
familiarity.

"I've a sort of favor to ask of you," he said. "I've some friends who're
motoring over to-day from Philadelphia. I had to run on down ahead of
them to see a man on business. They're to join me in about an hour from
now"--he consulted his watch--"and we're all driving back together
to-night. General Dunlap and Mrs. Claire Denton, his daughter--she's the
amateur tennis champion, you know--and Mrs. Gordon-Tracy, of Newport,
and Freddy Urb, the writer--they're all in the party. And the favor I'm
asking is that I may have the pleasure of presenting them to you--that
is, of course, unless you already know them--so that I may enjoy the
looks on their faces when they find out that you are not Mrs. Beeman
Watrous. I know they'll behave as I did. They won't believe it at first.
May I?"

What could Mrs. Propbridge do except consent? Indeed, inwardly she
rejoiced at the prospect. She did not know personally the four named by
this Mr. Murrill, but she knew mighty well who they were. What person
familiar with the Social Register could fail to know