"For no reason whatever,--really," he returned, more bewildered than ever. "There was no reason why I should choose New York, only when I spoke to her of certain places there, she--she----" He paused and thought the matter over carefully before finishing his sentence. He ended it at last in a singular manner. "She said nothing," he said. "It is actually true--now I think of it--she said nothing whatever!" "And because she said nothing whatever----" began Olivia. He drew his hand across his forehead with a puzzled gesture. "I fancied she _looked_ as if she knew," he said, slowly. "I am sure she looked as if she knew what I was talking about--as if she knew the places, I mean. It is very queer! There seems no reason in it. Why shouldn't she wish us to know where she lives?" "I--I must confess," cried Olivia, "that I am getting a little tired of her." It was treacherous and vicious, and she knew it was; but her guilty conscience and her increasing sense of having bungled drove her to desperation. If she had not promised to keep the truth to herself, she would have been only too glad to unburden herself. It was so stupid, after all, and she had only herself to blame. Laurence drew a long breath. "You can not be tired of _her_!" he said. "That is impossible. She takes firmer hold upon one every hour." This was certainly true, as far as he was concerned. He was often even surprised at his own enthusiasm. He had seen so many pretty women that it was almost inconsistent that he should be so much moved by the prettiness of one charming creature, and particularly one who spoke so little, who, after all, was--but there he always found himself at a full stop. He could not say what she was, he did not know yet; really, he seemed no nearer the solution of the mystery than he had been at first. There lay the fascination. He felt so sure there was an immense deal for him to discover, if he could only discover it. He had an ideal in his mind, and this ideal, he felt confident, was the real creature, if he could only see her. During the episode on the upper gallery he fancied he had caught a glimpse of what was to be revealed. The sudden passion on her pale young face, the fire in her eyes, were what he had dreamed of. If he had not been possessed of courage and an honest faith in himself, born of a goodly amount of success, he would have been far more depressed than he was. She was going away, and had not encouraged him to look forward to their meeting again. "I own it is rather bad to look at," he said to himself, "if one quite believed that Fate would serve one such an ill turn. She never played me such a trick, however, and I won't believe she will. I shall see her again--sometime. It will turn out fairly enough, surely."