"I wish you would answer me," he begged. "I have a reason for asking."
"What reason?" she demanded, suddenly serious again.
"Two people have never lived that were so near alike as you and Lucy
Rogers."
"Indeed?"
"Will you show me your left arm?"
"No."
She was again studying his face.
"If you are Lucy Rogers you have a scar there--a scar where you burned
yourself years ago."
She seemed frightened for a moment. Then she said:
"I have no scar on my left arm."
"Will you prove it?"
"No. You are annoying me. What did you say your name is?"
"Tom Gates."
She was thoughtful for a moment and then shook her head.
"I have never heard of you," she declared, positively, and resumed her
eating.
Tom was nonplussed. One moment he believed she was Lucy, and the next
told himself that it was impossible. This girl possessed mannerisms that
Lucy had never exhibited in all the years he had known her. She was bold
and unabashed where Lucy was shy and unassuming. This girl's eyes
laughed, while Lucy's were grave and serious; yet they were the same
eyes.
"Let me tell you about my lost Lucy," he said, with a glance at the
unconscious Donald.
"Go ahead, if it will relieve you," she answered, demurely.
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