"No--from Westport. You know I live there."

"No--I didn't know it. Curiously enough in the back of my head I've
not a notion that somewhere--but not in Westport--you and I have met
before."

"I can't imagine where," said Hermia promptly.

He rubbed his head and thatched his brows.

"Paris, perhaps,--or--it couldn't have been in Normandy?" he asked.

"I've never been to Normandy. Besides, if we _had_ met, I probably
would have remembered it. I'm afraid you're thinking of some one else."

"Yes, perhaps I am," he said slowly. "I've got the worst memory in the
world--"

"Mine is excellent," put in Hernia.

He looked at her soberly, and her gaze fell, but in a moment she
flashed a bright smile up at him. "Of course it doesn't matter, does
it? What _does_ matter is how I'm going to get ashore."

"I've been thinking about that. I don't see how it can be managed," he
replied briefly.

"Isn't there a boat-house?"