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 "How odd!" The Misses Ruggles looked at each other bewilderedly. The one at the tea-table shook her head smilingly.

"I fear you are growing forgetful, Anamite dear," she sighed. Miles examined the other Miss Ruggles in the hope of discovering some feature whereby he could thereafter identify her as Miss Anamite. But it was no use; five minutes afterwards he was as much at sea as ever. Meanwhile, Miss Anamite was explaining.

"It was Miss Lynde," she said. "Such a sweet girl! So—so interesting! She's an artist, a landscape artist, with a great deal of talent. Shouldn't you say she had a great deal of talent, dear?"

"Oh, undoubtedly, my dear! A most talented girl, Mr. Fallon! Quite remarkable, I call her!"