Jane , according to my sight and belief , possessed neither . Once upon a time I had been engaged to Jane . I had been idiotically in love with her in those days and still more idiotically believed that she loved me . The trouble was that , although I had been cured of the latter phase of my idiocy , the former had become chronic . I had never been able to get over loving Jane . All through those two years I had hugged the fond hope that sometime I might stumble across her in a mild mood and make matters up . There was no such thing as seeking her out or writing to her , since she had icily forbidden me to do so , and Jane had a most detestable habit -- in a woman -- of meaning what she said . But the deity I had invoked was the god of chance -- and this was how he had answered my prayers . I was eating my dinner beside Jane , who supposed me to be Clark Oliver ! What should I do ? Confess the truth and plead my cause while she had to sit beside me ? That would never do . Someone might overhear us . And , in any case , it would be no passport to Jane 's favor that I was a guest in the house under false pretences . She would be certain to disapprove strongly . It was a maddening situation . Jane , who was calmly eating soup -- she was the only woman I had ever seen who could eat soup and look like a goddess at the same time -- glanced around and caught me studying her profile . I thought she blushed slightly and I raged inwardly to think that blush was meant for Clark Oliver -- Clark Oliver who had told me he thought Jane was smitten on him ! Jane ! On him !
`` Do you know , Mr. Oliver , '' said Jane slowly , `` XXXXX you are startlingly like a -- a person I used to know ?
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