"But explain to me," I exclaimed, interested. "Of what nature is this evil? It is surely not inevitable?" "Yes," she responded, in a calm, low voice, "it is inevitable. You have been very kind to me, therefore I have no desire to cause you any unhappiness." "I really can't help thinking that you view things rather gloomily," I said, in as irresponsible a tone as I could. "I only tell you that which is the truth. Some persons have a faculty for working evil, even when they intend to do good. They are the accursed among their fellows." Her observation was an extraordinary one, inasmuch as more than one great scientist has put forward a similar theory, although the cause of the evil influence which such persons are able to exercise has never been discovered. About her face was nothing evil, nothing crafty, nothing to lead one to suspect that she was not what she seemed--pure, innocent, and womanly. Indeed, as she sat before me, I felt inclined to laugh at her assertion as some absurd fantasy of the imagination. Surely no evil could lurk behind such a face as hers? "You are not one of the accursed," I protested, smiling. "But I am!" she answered, looking me straight in the face. Then, starting forward, she exclaimed, "Oh! why did you press me to come here, to you?" "Because I count you among my friends," I responded. "To see me and drink a cup of tea can surely do no harm, either to you or to me." "But it will!" she cried in agitation. "Have I not told you that evil follows in my footsteps--that those who are my friends always suffer the penalty of my friendship?" "You speak like a prophetess," I laughed. "Ah! you don't believe me!" she exclaimed. "I see you don't. You will never believe until the hideous truth is forced upon you." "No," I said, "I don't believe. Let us talk of something else, Aline-- if I may be permitted to call you by your Christian name?" "You have called me by that name already without permission," she laughed gaily, her manner instantly changing. "It would be ungenerous of me to object, would it not?" "You are extremely philosophical," I observed, handing her my cup to be refilled. "I'm afraid you must have formed a very curious opinion of me," she replied. "You seem to have no inclination to tell me anything of yourself," I said. "I fancy I have told you all about myself worth knowing, but you will tell me nothing in exchange." "Why should you desire to know? I cannot interest you more than a mere passing acquaintance, to be entertained to-day and forgotten to-morrow." "No, not forgotten," I said reproachfully. "You may forget me, but I shall never forget our meeting the other night." "It will be best if you do forget me," she declared. "But I cannot!" I declared passionately, bending and looking straight into her beautiful countenance. "I shall never forget."