He smiled gravely, puzzled, hesitant, for her manner indicated that she knew him, or was mistaking him for another.

He paused also, and both stood for a fleeting instant face to face, silent.
Lawler noted that the woman was beautiful, well dressed, with a manner unmistakably eastern.

He decided that she had mistaken him for someone of her acquaintance, for he felt assured he never had seen her before.
He bowed, saying lowly: "I beg your pardon, ma'am; I reckon it's a case of mistaken identity." "Why," she returned, laughing; "I thought sure I knew you.

Are you quite certain that I don't ?" There was guile in her eyes; so far back that he could not see it, or so cleverly veiled with something else that he was not aware of it.

It seemed to him that the eyes were merely engaging, and frankly curious.
He did not see the admiration in them, the elation, and the demure coquetry.
"I reckon you'll have to be the judge of that, ma'am.