She was Woman smiling at him. The vision was too much for him. She bent toward him and her lips whispered: "How do you do, Mr. Granthope? Why are you staring so? I thought of course you knew me—but I really believe you don’t." Even then he did not recognize her, and was profoundly embarrassed. That he should fail to remember such a mouth as that! He took her hand which had been concealed in her long sleeve and looked at it. She had glued long false nails of celluloid to her little fingers, completing the picture of a Chinese lady of quality. At the first sight of her palm, at the first touch of it, even, he knew her, and, with a rush, a dozen thoughts bewildered him. This was she whom he had been able so to influence, to cajole. He had, in a way, a claim to this comeliness. She had favored him, had confessed her interest in him. They were, besides, bound by a secret tie. He might hope for more of her, perhaps. She was already somewhat in his power; he had, at least, the capacity to sway her. She, alluring, delightful, might perhaps be gained, and in some way, won. She had known him at a glance—there was her prescience again! She had welcomed him, in assurance of her favor. What then was possible? What dared he not hope for? A great wave of desire overcame him. Meanwhile he answered, distracted and unready: "You knew me then? I thought I was pretty well disguised." "Oh, you’ve forgotten how hard it is to deceive me. I should never try it, if I were you. Of course I knew you! I should know you if you had covered your head in a sack." He stammered, and he was not often confused enough to stammer. "I don’t know how to tell you how beautiful you are, Miss Payson." She spoke low and slowly, with a wayward inflection, "Oh, I’m so sorry." Then she added, "I scarcely dared speak to you, you are so magnificent." "I would need to be, to be worthy of sitting beside you," he replied, his wits floating, unmanageable. "Did you get my note?" "Yes, I want to thank you for it." "I hope you’ve forgiven me." "Of course, I was only flattered by your frankness." "It’s so easy to be frank with you," she said. "You see, I’m perfectly myself with you, even _en masque_. I doubt if any of my friends would know me as I am with you." "But I’ve seen a new ’you’ that I haven’t known before." "Then she owes her existence to your presence. But how am I different? Tell me." "You take my breath away. You say such charming things to me that it deprives me of the power of answering you—anything I could say seems ineffective and cheap. You get ahead of me so. Really, you’ll have to be positively rude to me before I can summon presence of mind enough to say anything gallant." Again her lips curved daintily. Her voice was dulcet: "Then I am afraid I shall never hear any nice things from you."