'No,' she said quietly, 'you haven't forgotten. I told you that you could never forget.'
'I'm sorry,' I answered, 'but that's the trouble. I have forgotten. I've forgotten everything.'
She laughed. 'Did you know that I married six months after you did? It was in all the newspapers.'
She was silent for a minute. Then she looked up at me again. 'Tell me one thing, Elwyn,' she said softly. 'Since that night fifteen year ago, can you touch, smell, or look at white roses - and not think of me?'
'I can only say that I don't remember any of this,' I said carefully. I'm very sorry.' I tried to look away from her.
She smiled and stood up to leave. Then she held out her hand to me, and took it for a second. 'Oh, yes, you remember,' she said, with a sweet, unhappy smile.
'Goodbye, Elwyn Bellford.'
That night I went to the theatre and when I returned t my hotel, a quiet man in dark clothes was waiting for me.
