and followed her into the shop. Rather strangely, as soon as he took it upon himself to speak to her, the lingering sense of vexation gave way to curiosity. The mere look of the man had the power to excite an immediate interest, but June was careful to keep strictly upon her guard.
He ordered a bottle of ginger beer, and when the waitress had gone for it, he turned to June and said, with the companionable air of an old friend: "It's funny, but you are exactly like a girl I used to know."
"Why funny?" asked June bluntly.
The nature of the question, and the look of June's keen eye made the man smile a little. Evidently she was a bit of a character. It appeared to stimulate him.
"It's always funny when you mistake someone for someone else."
"Is it?" said June, warily.
"Don't you agree," he said, with a laugh that sounded decidedly pleasant.
"It's a thing I should never think of doing myself."
"You are lucky." He was amused by her bluntness. "I wish I had your good memory."
The tea arrived, and June poured it out in a spirit of thankfulness. As soon as she had drunk half a cup, which was reviving, she forgot all about her annoyance in a new feeling of exhilaration tempered by quiet amusement.
"You are most remarkably like a Scotch girl I used to know in Paris," said the man, taking up the thread of conversation, after having drunk a little, a very little, ginger beer.
"Am I?" said June, coolly.
