fib indeed serves the purpose:
"You must have told him, chick; or perhaps I repeated it. I remember
your telling _me_ about the elderly gentleman who was in a rage with
the Company." Sally looked doubtful, but gave up the point.

Nevertheless, Fenwick felt certain in his own heart that "the terms
of the Company's charter" was a bit of private recollection of his
own. And Rosalind had never heard of it before. But it was true she
had heard of the elderly gentleman. Near enough!

* * * * *

As to the crowd of memories that kept coming, some absolutely clear,
some mere phantoms, into the arena of Fenwick's still disordered mind,
they would have an interest, and a strong one, for this story if its
object were the examination of strange freaks of memory. But the only
point we are nearly concerned with is the rigid barrier drawn across
the backward pathway of his recollection at some period between ten
and fifteen years ago. Till this should be removed, and the dim image
of his forgotten marriage should acquire force and cohesion, he and
his wife were safe from the intrusion of their former selves on
the scene of their present happiness--safe possibly from a power of
interference it might exercise for ill--safe certainly from risk of a
revelation to Sally of her mother's history and her own parentage--but
safe at a heavy cost to the one of the three who alone now held the
key to their disclosure.

However vividly Fenwick had recalled the incidents of his arrival in
England, and however convinced he was that no part of them was mere
dream, they all belonged for him to that buried Harrisson whose
identity he shrank from taking on himself--_would_ have shrunk from,
at the cost that was to be paid for it, had the prize of its
inheritance been ten times as great. Still, one or two connecting
links had caught on either side, the chief one being Sally, who had
actually spoken with him whilst still Harrisson--although it must be
admitted she had not kissed him--and the one next in importance, the
cabman. The pawnbroker made a very bad third--in fact, scarcely
counted, owing to his own moroseness or reserve. But the cabman! Why,
Fenwick had it all now at his fingers' ends. He could recall the start
from New York, the wish to keep the secret of his gold-mining success
to himself on the ship, and his satisfaction when he found his name
printed with one _s_ in the list of cabin passengers. Then a pleas