 Why did Gabe tell the girl that he was with that he had never before seen the nondescript man, though the two clearly knew each other?
Everyone in the room was aware of the big young man, and most of the humans present were resentful, for he handled himself consciously and arrogantly, as if his appearance alone were enough to make him superior to anyone. Even the girl with him was growing restless, for she was accustomed to adulation herself, and next to Gabriel Lockard she was almost ordinary-looking. There was a short man standing next to the pair—young, as most men and women were in that time, thanks to the science which could stave off decay, though not death—but with no other apparent physical virtue, for plastic surgery had not fulfilled its bright promise of the twentieth century. "You must allow me to pay your cleaning bill," Gabe said, taking out his wallet and extracting several credit notes without seeming to look at them. And that, coming on top of Gabriel Lockard's spectacular appearance, was too much. As a matter of fact, no real identification was possible, for he was no one and had been no one for years. To the girl's indignation, the stranger not only hauled Gabe out onto the dripping grass first, but stopped and deliberately examined the young man by the light of his minilume, almost as if she weren't there at all. Only when she started to struggle out by herself did he seem to remember her existence. "Allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Gabriel Lockard," he said, bowing from his seated position toward the girl.
 He had not actually seen that man with the new face
 He had never met the man in person.  He had not actually seen that man with the new face  He had not wanted her to know the truth.  He had not recognized the man at that time, because of his intoxication.