She had begun to color, faintly; she had turned her eyes from him. Into her loveliness had come a new element of charm. There was something special in it, something for him alone; it was as if she had been signaling to him, and he had not, till now, understood. Instantly every line in her body seemed to be imbued with a new grace, a new meaning, translating her spirit. He was too full of the inspiration to speak; he could only look at her, irradiated, as if he had never seen her before. To his admiration for her beauty, his respect for her character, his interest in her mind, there was added something more; the total was not to be accounted for by the sum of these. And the wonderful whole satisfied the divine fastidiousness of his nature. She was for him the supreme choice. Her mind worked like his. Her very size pleased him. He seemed to know her for the first time. He had desired her, before, for her beauty and her intelligence; he had thought calmly of love and marriage. But now he felt the supreme demand for possession, because——only because he _must_ have her—because nothing else in his life mattered. A secret ray of thought seemed to carry the message back to her, for, apparently embarrassed by the intensity of his silence, she rose and walked a few paces, with her hands behind her back, gazing off at the harbor. It was not thought that he sent, however, for he could not think; it was a new function of his soul aroused, excited, thrilling him with the power of its vibration. When that wave broke, he was at a loss for words. How could he say how much he wanted her? How could he ask if she, too, felt that same thrill, while he winced under this new, mortifying sense of the cheapness and falsity of his life? He could not yet bring himself to confess the miserable truths; it was not the larger, more obvious things he was afraid of, for she knew well enough of these—but one or two shameful details came into his mind and made him shrink from himself. She turned to him again, composed, though still she showed elation. "I’m sorry Fancy had to go," she said earnestly. Her eyes were steady, though her lips were still quivering. "It was too bad. But it was necessary." She gave him a swift, searching look. "Oh! Then you are—finding out?" "I’m being pushed on, somehow. It’s really queer, as if the force came from outside of myself—" "Oh, no! I’m sure not!" "Something is working out in me—" Clytie smiled rarely, her face illuminated. "Oh, fate deals the cards, but we have to play them ourselves. And—I think—you’ve taken several tricks already." "You mean—about Fancy Gray?" "No—that I can’t judge—I never have judged. Your advertisement in the papers." He was immensely surprised, pleased. "You have noticed that already? Why, this is only the very first day—" "I have watched for it every day."