"How do you know ?" "Aren't you ?" I demanded.
She acknowledged her identity with a nod.

It was Wolf Larsen's turn to be puzzled.

The name and its magic signified nothing to him.

I was proud that it did mean something to me, and for the first time in a weary while I was convincingly conscious of a superiority over him.
"I remember writing a review of a thin little volume--" I had begun carelessly, when she interrupted me.
"You!" she cried.

"You are--" She was now staring at me in wide-eyed wonder.
I nodded my identity, in turn.
"Humphrey Van Weyden," she concluded; then added with a sigh of relief, and unaware that she had glanced that relief at Wolf Larsen, "I am so glad." "I remember the review," she went on hastily, becoming aware of the awkwardness of her remark; "that too, too flattering review." "Not at all," I denied valiantly.