"As though I had suddenly become frozen," I answered. "It is the same sensation as when I entered that room at Gloucester Square." "Impossible!" she cried in alarm. "Yes," I said; "it is unaccountable--quite unaccountable." The circumstance was absolutely beyond credence. I stood there, for a few minutes, leaning upon her arm, which she offered me, and slowly the curious sensation died away, until a quarter of an hour afterwards I found myself quite as vigorous as I had been before. Neither of us, however, danced again, but lighting a cigar, I spent some time strolling with her up and down the terrace, enjoying the calm, warm, starlit night. We discussed my mysterious seizure a good deal, but could arrive at no conclusion. After some hesitation I broached the subject which was very near my heart. "I have heard nothing of late of Chetwode," I said. "Where is he?" "I don't know," she responded. "His regiment has left Hounslow for York, you know." "And he is in York?" "I suppose so." "Suppose! And yet you are to be his wife!" I exclaimed. "Who told you that?" she asked quickly, halting and looking straight at me. "Every one discusses it," I answered. "They say he is to be your husband very shortly. What would he say, I wonder, if he knew that you and I frivol so much together?" "What right has he to say anything regarding my actions? I am quite free." "Then he is not your lover?" I inquired in deep earnestness. "Tell me the truth." "Of course not. We have danced together and walked together, just as you and I have done; but as for love--why, the thing is absurd." "You do not love him?" I asked. "Certainly not," she laughed. Then she added, "I never love. That is why I am not like other women." "Every woman denies the tender passion," I said, smiling. "Well, I only tell you the truth," she responded, with a slight sigh. "If every woman must love at one time in her life, there must of course be some exceptions. I am one of them." "Ah, you do yourself an injustice?" I declared. "Every woman has a heart." She was silent. Then, in a hard strained voice, she answered-- "True; but mine is like stone." "Why? What has hardened it?" "Ah, no!" she cried quickly. "You are always, trying to learn my secret, but I can never tell you--never! Let us go in." And, without another word, she passed through the French windows into the billiard-room, where the usual game of pool was in progress and the merry chatter was general. Like that of her cousin, her nature was a complex one. The more I strove to understand her the more utterly hopeless the analysis became. I loved her--nay, in all the world there was but one woman for my eyes. Superb in beauty and in grace, she was incomparable--perfect.