Perturbed as he was by this new proof of her intuition, he refused to admit it. After all, it might have been merely her quick observation. At any rate, he would make another attempt to pit his cleverness against her sapience. "Oh, we only went up to see Mr. Maxwell’s books. He has a first edition of Montaigne there." He was for a moment sure that she was only jealous. She bent her calm eyes upon him. There was no weakness in her mouth, though it seemed more lovely in its tremulous distress. The upper lip quivered uncontrolled; the lower one fell grieving, as she said: "I asked nothing. I want only honesty in what you do tell me." This time he was fairly amazed. The hit was deadly. He dared not suspect that she had taken a chance shot. He was too humbled to attempt any denial, knowing how useless it would be in the face of her discernment. Yet she had showed nothing more than disapproval or distress. Her reproof could scarcely be called an accusation, and her chivalry touched him. "I don’t know what you will think of me," he said. "Oh, I’ve heard so much worse of you than that," she said, "and it hasn’t prevented my wanting to be friends with you. I hope only that you will never misinterpret that friendliness. You don’t think me bold, do you?" "I wish you were bolder." "Oh, you don’t know my capacity yet. But, really, do you understand? It’s that feeling, you know, that in some way we’re connected, that’s all. It’s unexplainable, and I know it’s silly of me. I’m not trying to impress you." "But you are!" In answer, she smiled again, and again that flood of delight came over him rendering him unable, for a moment, to do anything but gaze at her. Luckily just then Cayley returned with a glass of water; at the same time, the order was given by Mrs. Maxwell to unmask. Clytie drew off her visor immediately. As Granthope watched her he felt the quality of his excitement change, transmuted to a higher psychic level. Somehow, with her whole face revealed, with her serene eyes shining on him, he was less in the grip of that craving which had held him prisoner. It fled, leaving him more calm, but with a deepened, more vital desire. The completed beauty of her face now thrilled him with a demand for possession, but the single note of passion was richened to a fuller chord of feeling. The mole on her cheek made her human, and almost attainable.