Vera was silent. "I shall see him to-night, of course," she said with a fine air of unconcern, "and I hope we shall part the best of friends; but as to his being in love with me, that is nonsense!" "Of course it is," said Elizabeth soothingly. "What makes you think he is in love with me?" Vera asked suddenly. "Symptoms." "But what symptoms?" "Well, you are always together. He drops bunches of flowers for you on your birthday." "Pshaw!" said Vera scornfully. "I thought you had more knowledge of men and women. That is friendship." "Ha, ha!" laughed Elizabeth politely. "But honestly," asked Vera, "what makes you think so?" "I won't tell you any more," said the girl, turning around and tying her hair, "but I will put a straight question to you, my dear; do you love Tam?" "Of course not," Vera was red; "you are making me very uncomfortable. I tell you he is a good friend of mine and I respect him enormously." "And you don't love him?" "Of course I don't love him. What a stupid thing to imagine!" "Such things have happened," said the girl. "I have never thought of such a thing," said Vera; "but suppose I did, of course it's an absurd idea, but suppose I did?" "If I were you and I did," said the girl, "I should tell him so." "Elizabeth!" "It sounds bold, doesn't it? But I will tell you why I make that suggestion, because if you don't tell him he won't tell you. You see, my dear, you are a very rich young woman, a very well-educated young woman, you have a social position and a large number of friends. Tam is a self-educated man, with no money and very few prospects and no social position, and, as you say, he is straight and honest--" "He is the straightest and most honest man in the world," said Vera warmly. "Well, in those circumstances can't you see, he would no more think of asking for you than he would of calling at Buckingham Palace and demanding the Kohinoor!" "In America," said Vera, "we haven't those absurd ideas." "Oh, shucks!" said Elizabeth contemptuously. "You seem to forget I was born in Pennsylvania." And there the conversation ended, and for the rest of the day Vera was silent and thoughtful, excusing her taciturnity by the fact that she had a lot of packing to do and needed to concentrate her mind upon its performance. The mortal foe to instinct is reason. They are the negative and positive of mental volition. The man who retains the animal gift of unreasoning divination, preserving that clear power against the handicaps which mind training and education impose, is necessarily psychic, or, as they say in certain Celtic countries, "fey."