She explained: "I have a technical interest in bindings. I do some of that work myself. It’s curious that I happened to be at work to-day on an old copy of Montaigne. I’m rebinding it for my father’s birthday. You’d never think my hands were of any practical use, would you?" He laughed. "Inconsistencies like that are what baffles one most, especially when one knows that most characters are inconsistent. But we professionals have to go by general rules. I should expect you to be an exception to all of them, though." He watched her surreptitiously, noting her diminishing color, the evasion of her glance, and the air of self-consciousness with which she spoke, as they talked for a while of obvious things—the weather, the view, and the picturesque, old-fashioned garden. She had taken the ring and had put it upon her finger, keeping her eyes on its turquoises. Her whole demeanor ministered to his vanity, already pleased by her frank welcome. He was used enough to women’s interest and admiration for him to expect it and play upon it, but this was of a shyer and more elusive sort; it seemed to hold something more seriously considered, it baffled him, even as he enjoyed its unction. Besides all this, too, there was a secret romantic charm in the fact that they had shared together that vivid experience of the past. He came back for another draught of flattery. "It was odd that you expected me, wasn’t it?" he said. "I can’t help wondering about it." She had her eyes upon the Sausalito boat, which was weaving a trailing web of foam past Alcatraz Island. At his words, she turned to him with the same slow seriousness as before and replied: "I shouldn’t think it would seem so remarkable to you, your own power is so much more wonderful." "Perhaps so in that one case, but you know I don’t, ordinarily, claim clairvoyance. It’s only occasionally, as the other day with you, that I attempt it." Her eyes awakened; she said earnestly, "Was I really able to bring that out in you?" He caught at the hint. "Why, what else could it be but your magnetism? It was the more strange because I had never seen you before." The glow faded, and she relaxed her nervous energy. "Ah, hadn’t you? I wonder!" "Why, had you ever seen me before that day?" "I think so. At least you seem, somehow, familiar." "When was it, and where, then?" She seemed too puzzled to answer, or fatigued with following an intangible thread of thought. As she spoke, slowly, intensely, her hands made large, vague gestures, often pausing in mid air, as her voice paused, waiting for the proper word to come. "I don’t know. It only seems as if I had been with you—or near you, or something—I don’t know what. It’s like a dream—or a story I can’t quite recall, only—" she did not finish the sentence.