And yet she didn't look at me as if she recognized me.

What can she be doing out here at midnight?
I suppose it's none of my business: in fact, she might very reasonably ask the same question of me.

And if I were to tell her that I had only ridden over to spend a sentimental hour beneath her window, what would she say?
If she answered in the same lingo she used just now, I should be as wise as before.

After all, it may have been somebody else.

The image in my mind projected itself on her countenance.