Bowing, the stranger said, "This is my name. I will send a cheque tomorrow. Whose name shall I put on it?"
She wanted to say, "Oh, no. Don't think of it," in a grand and generous manner, but she knew Aunt Henrietta would insist upon being paid for the petrol. She should at least have answered, "Mrs. Henrietta Weatherby," but in an insane burst of unmaidenly behavior, she murmured, "Miss Gertrude Fosdick," and spelled it for him as he wrote it down. "F-o-s-d-i-c-k."
He took off his cap and bowed elaborately once more and disappeared, and then for the first time she was able to look at the card. Being far-sighted and not having her glasses, she had to hold it far from her. She read,
El Duque de Fuenterrabía
El Marqués de Santoban
For a moment she feared her knees would give way. It was just like a novel, she thought. Just like a novel. It was like one of those stories of Ouida, one of the things you got in a paper-backed edition. Just like "In a Winter City." The hand trembled with excitement and the flame of the candle trembled too. Her shadow trembled on the ancient wall so that it looked as if she were dancing. Presently she shut the door and shot the huge iron bolt, but as she closed it she caught a sudden glimpse of the statue gleaming white in the moonlight and felt suddenly frightened again.
