CHAPTER VII.
A MORNING CALL "The way to conceal one's identity," observed Mrs.Steel, "is to assume another as distinctive as one's own." This oracular utterance was confidentially delivered from the leathern chair at the writing-table, in an inner recess of Rachel's sumptuous sitting-room.

The chair had been wheeled aloof from the table, on which were Steel's hat and gloves, and such a sheaf of book-stall literature as suggested his immediate departure upon no short journey, unless, indeed, the magazines and the Sunday newspapers turned out to be another offering to Mrs.Minchin, like the nosegay of hothouse flowers which she still held in her hand.

Rachel herself had inadvertently taken the very easy-chair which was a further feature of the recess; in its cushioned depths she already felt at a needless disadvantage, with Mr.Steel bending over her, his strong face bearing down, as it were, upon hers, and his black eyes riddling her with penetrating glances.

But to have risen now would have been to show him what she felt.

So she trifled with his flowers without looking up, though her eyebrows rose a little on their own account.
"I know what you are thinking," resumed Steel; "that you had no desire to assume any new identity, or for a single moment to conceal your own, and that I have taken a great deal upon myself.