"Oh, no, it's not in the least flattering."
"I wish you'd explain, then." He leaned back, folded his arms and
waited indulgently. So long as he could keep the conversation personal,
he was sure of being able to manage her, and further his own ends. It
amused him.
She busied herself with a lace handkerchief as she continued, in a low
voice, as if she were ridding herself of a disagreeable task, and always
with the slow, monotonous turning of her questing eyes toward him, and
away. "Of course I've heard many things about you--you're a good deal
talked about, you know; but it's not that at all--it's an instinctive
knowledge I have about you. I can't explain it. It's a queer special
feeling--almost as if, in some way, I had the right to know. That's why
I wanted to see you again--I hoped you'd come. I wanted to tell you."
"But all that certainly is flattering," he said. "I wouldn't be human
if I weren't pleased to hear that you're interested, even if--"
She could not help breaking into smiles again, as she interrupted him.
"Oh, but I haven't told you yet."
"Please do, then!"
"It sounds so foolish when I say it--so priggish! But it's this: I don't
at all approve of you. Why in the world should I care? I don't know.
It isn't my business to reform you, if you need it." Now she had
brought it out, she could not look at him.
Curiously enough, though he had been amused at her assumption of a
circumstantial knowledge of him, this hinted comprehension of his
character, of the duplicity of his life, if it were that, impressed him
with the existence in her mind of some quality as rare and mysterious as
electricity, a real psychic gift, perhaps. It gave him an instant's
pause. Instinctively he feared a more definite arraignment. He began a
little more seriously, now, to match his cleverness against her
intuition; and, for the first defense, he employed a move of masculine
coquetry.
"You have been thinking of me, then?"
"Yes," she replied simply, "I have thought about you a good deal since I
was in your studio. But I suppose you're used to hearing things like
that from women." She was apologetic, rather than sarcastic.
He shrugged his shoulders. He seemed to be able to make no way against
her directness. "I've thought not a little of you, too, Miss Payson.
You are wonderfully psychic and sensitive. I think you should develop
your power--you might be able to do extraordinary things with it. I
wish you'd let me help you. That is," he added humorously, "if I'm not
too far gone in your disapproval."
"Oh, the disapproval--I call it that for want of a better word--isn't so
important as the fact that I should feel it at all, don't you see? You
remember that you told me I was the kind of a woman who, if she liked a
man, would tell him so, freely. That is true. I would scorn to stoop
to the immemorial feminine tricks. I do like you, and in spite of what
I can't quite explain, too. I don't know why, either. It seems as if
it's a part of that other feeling I've mentioned--that I've been with
you, or near you, before."
He leaned forward to extort more of this delicious confession from her.
"Do you mean spiritually, or merely physically near?"
"Oh, I don't mean an 'elective affinity' or anything so occult as that,"
she laughed. "Indeed, I don't quite know what I do mean--it's all so
vague. I can't formulate it. It escapes me when I try. But I did
know, for instance, quite definitely, that I'd see you again. I tell
you about it only because I think that you, with your power in that way,
may be able to understand it and explain it to me."
He thought he saw his chance, now, and instinctively he began to pose,
letting his eyes deepen and burn on her. He nodded his head and said
impressively:
"Yes. I have felt it, too, Miss Payson. It's wonderful to think that
you should have recognized me and understood me so well. No one ever
has before. We are related by some tie--I'm sure we've met before,
somewhere, somehow--"
She jumped up and stood before him, her hands tightly held, her lips
pressed together. For a moment, so, she looked hard at him; then what
there had been of anger in her gaze softened to something like sadness
or pity.
"_That's_ what I meant!"
He misunderstood her remark and her attitude and went still farther
astray from her meaning.
"You are not like any other woman I have ever known," he said, in the
same soulful way.
"Why can't you be honest with me!" she broke out. She was astonishingly
alive now; there was no trace of her former languor. He winced at
realizing, suddenly, and too late, that he had made a false step.
"Why do you make me regret having been frank?" she went on, with a
despairing throb in her voice. "You have almost succeeded in making me
ashamed of myself, already. _That_ is just what I disapprove of in you.
Don't imagine that you can ever deceive me with such sentimentality. I
shall always know when you're straightforward and simple. That's what
I've been trying to make you understand--that I _do_ know!"
She turned slowly away from him, almost hopelessly. For a moment she
remained immobile, then before he had recovered his wits, she had
modified the situation for him. Her eyes drifted back to his as she
remarked thoughtfully:
"I am sure, too, that you could help me, if you would."
"How?" He tried to pull himself together.
"Merely by being honest with me."
He raised his eyebrows.
"Oh, I know that's a good deal to ask," she laughed.
"Of me?"
"Of any one."
"I'll try, Miss Payson," he said, not too seriously. "But you've
frightened me. I don't dare think too hard about anything, you're such
a witch."
She released him graciously and keyed down to an easier tone.
"You must forgive me if I've been too frank, Mr. Granthope, but this
interview is almost like a first meeting, and you know how much one is
apt to say in such a situation. Let's not continue the discussion--I'm
embarrassed enough already. I know I shall regret what I've said.
We'll talk of something pleasanter. Tell me about that pretty girl in
your office."
"Oh!" he exclaimed, and his tone was as if he had said, "Aha!" He
wondered if it were possible that, after all, it was only this which had
moved her to speak.
Clytie frowned, but if she read his thought, she let it go unchallenged.
"She's an original little thing; I like her," she added.
"You do?" he said mischievously exaggerating his surprise.
"Yes, I do. Don't think I'm trying to patronize her, but she's a
dear--and she's very pretty."
"Do you think so? I shall have to tell her that. She's pretty enough,
at least, to have been on the stage. She was in vaudeville for a couple
of years. I first got acquainted with her at the Orpheum. I've known
her a long time. She's a great help and a great comfort to me, and a
very clever girl."
"How long has she been your assistant?"
"Two years."
"And you haven't fallen in love with her yet?"
Granthope was relieved. He was sure now that she was, if not jealous,
suspicious of his relations with Fancy. It was not the first time he
had encountered such insinuations.
"Oh, not in the least," he said. "I can give you my word as to that. I
don't think it ever occurred to me--though I'd do anything in the world
for her."
"And I suppose you're as sure of her immunity?"
"Why, of course," said Granthope, and in his tone there was the ring of
masculine assurance.
Clytie smiled and shook her head. "There are some things men never can
know, no matter how clairvoyant they are," she said, looking away.
He did not follow this up, but arose to leave. "I'm afraid you have a
very poor opinion of me, Miss Payson," he said, "but I do feel
complimented by your frankness. Perhaps I shall merit it--who knows?"
It was his turn to address the distance, and, in spite of his
consciousness of an histrionic effect, his own words sounded curiously
in his ears; they seemed premonitory. He shook himself free from her
influence again. She had controlled the situation from the first word;
he had only made a series of mistakes. It all confirmed his first
estimate of her: that she was very well worth his while, but that her
capture would be difficult.
Clytie, too, had arisen. Her mood had lightened, and her sense of humor
had returned. "I hope I haven't been either tragic or absurd," she
said, smiling. "I'm not always so serious, Mr. Granthope. The next
time I meet you I'll probably be more conventional."
"Then I may see you again?"
"I doubt if you can help it."
"I shall certainly not try to!" Then he paused. "You mean--?"
"Yes!"
There was something delightful to him in this rapid transfer of wordless
thought. It again established an intimacy between them. That she
acknowledged such a relation by anticipating another meeting, an
inevitable one, charmed him the more. He might win, after all, with
such assistance from her. Her power of intuition aroused his
curiosity--he longed to experiment with it. She was a new plaything
which he had yet to learn to handle. Before, he had dominated her
easily enough; he might do so again.
"Miss Payson," he said, "won't you come down to my studio again
sometime? I'd like to make a more careful examination of your hand, and
perhaps I can help you in developing your psychic sense."
"Oh, no, thank you. Really, I can't come again--I shall be pretty busy
for a while--I have to go to the Mercantile Library every afternoon,
looking up material for my father's book--and, after all, I got what I
wanted."
"What did you want?"
"Partly to see you."