From a
distance Sharlee's glance swept him lightly; she saw that she did not
know him; and not fancying his frank stare, she drew near and stepped
upon the bridge with a splendid unconsciousness of his presence. But
just when she was safely by, her ears were astonished by his voice
speaking her name.
"How do you do, Miss Weyland?"
She turned, surprised by a familiar note in the deep tones, looked,
and--yes, there could be no doubt of it--it was--
"Mr. Queed! Why, _how_ do you do!"
They shook hands. He removed his hat for the process, doing it with a
certain painstaking precision which betrayed want of familiarity with
the engaging rite.
"I haven't seen you for a long time," said Sharlee brightly.
The dear, old remark--the moss-covered remark that hung in the well! How
on earth could we live without it? In behalf of Sharlee, however, some
excuses can be urged; for, remembering the way she had talked to Mr.
Queed once on the general subject of failures, she found herself
struggling against a most absurd sense of embarrassment.
"No," replied Queed, replacing his hat as though following from memory
the diagram in a book of etiquette.
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