When I called at his office next day I found he had merely confirmed his suspicions. It defied analysis; there was no reaction. Under all tests it was a stranger. The whole science that had been built up to explain everything had here explained nothing. However there was one thing that he had uncovered--heat. Perhaps I should say magnetism. It was cold to man. I have spoken about the icy blue of its colour. It was cold even to look at. The chemist placed it in my hand. “Is it not so?” It was. The minute it touched my palm I could sense the weird horror of the isolation; the stone was cold. Just like a piece of ice. This was the first time I had ever had it in direct contact with the flesh. Set in the ring its impulse had always been secondary. “You notice it? It is so with me. Now then. Just a minute.” He pressed a button. A young lady answered his ring; she glanced first at myself and then at the chemist. “Miss Mills, this is Mr. Wendel. He is the owner of the gem. Would you take it in your hand? And please tell Mr. Wendel how it feels--” She laughed; she was a bit perplexed. “I don't understand”--she turned to me--“we had the same dispute yesterday. See, Mr. White says that it's cold; but it is not. It is warm; almost burning. All the other girls think just as I do.” “And all the men as I do,” averred the chemist, “even Mr. Wendel.” “Is it cold to you?” she asked. “Really--” It was a turn I hadn't looked for. It was akin to life--this relation to sex. Could it account for the strange isolation and the weariness? I was a witness to its potency. Watson! I could feel myself dragging under. I had just one question: “Tell me, Miss Mills. Can you sense anything else; I mean beyond its temperature?” She smiled a bit. “I don't know what you mean exactly. It is a beautiful stone. I would like to have it.” “You think its possession would make you happy?” Her eyes sparkled. “Oh,” she exclaimed. “I know it would! I can feel it!” It was so. Whatever there was in the bit of sapphirine blue, it had life. What was it? It had relation to sex. In the strict line of fact it was impossible. When we were alone again I turned to the chemist. “Is there anything more you uncovered? Did you see anything in the stone?” He frowned. “No. Nothing else. This magnetism is the only thing. Is there anything more?” Now I hadn't said anything about its one great quality. He hadn't stumbled across the image of the two men. I couldn't understand it. I didn't tell him. Perhaps I was wrong. Down inside me I sensed a subtle reason for secrecy. It is hard to explain. It was not perverseness; it was a finer distinction; perhaps it was the influence of the gem. I took it back to the jeweller again and had it reset. XV AGAIN THE NERVINA