"I am Mr. Harleston," he replied courteously--the voice had done it.

"Oh, how do you do, Mr. Harleston!" the voice rippled. "I suppose you
are rather astonished at being called up at such an unseemly hour--"

"Not at all--I'm quite used to it, mademoiselle," Harleston assured her.

"Now you're sarcastic," the voice replied again; "and, somehow, I don't
like sarcasm when I'm the cause of it."

"You're the cause of it but not the object of it," he assured her. "I'm
quite sure I've never met you, and just as sure that I hope to meet you
today."

"Your hope, Mr. Harleston, is also mine. But why, may I ask, do you call
me mademoiselle? I'm not French."

"It's the pleasantest way to address you until I know your name."

"You might call me madame!"

"Perish the thought! I refuse to imagine you married."

"I might be a widow."

"No."

"Or even a divorcée."