He wondered what her game could be. Fundamentally cynical, though he never permitted it to show in his manner, he distrusted her claims to prevision. There was, after all, nothing in Miss Payson’s words that might not be accounted for by what he knew of the wiles of feminine psychology. His training had taught him how much a baseless hint, injected at the proper moment, could accomplish in the masquerade of emotions and the crafty warfare of the sexes. That he and she had been actors together in a past uncomprehended scene, he regarded as a mere coincidence of which he had already made good use; he refused to connect it with her suggestive remark, for he was sure that she must have been unaware of his presence in Madam Grant’s room that day, so long ago. It seemed to him more likely that, woman-fashion, she had shot into the air and had brought down an unsuspected quarry. And yet, even as a coincidence, he could not quite dismiss the strangeness of it from his mind. He was preparing to turn it to a sentimental advantage, when Clytie, who had relapsed into silence, suddenly aroused herself with one of those impulsive outbursts which were characteristic of her. "There is something about it all that is stranger still, I think!" Her golden brows had drawn together, separated by two vertical lines, as she gazed at him. Then with a little jet of fervor, she added: "I’m afraid I know too much about you, Mr. Granthope! It’s somewhat embarrassing, really. It doesn’t seem quite fair, you know." "I’m not quite sure that I understand." "Oh, you know! You must know!" He laughed. "Really, Miss Payson, it’s very flattering, of course—" "Oh, no, it’s not in the least flattering." "I wish you’d explain, then." He leaned back, folded his arms and waited indulgently. So long as he could keep the conversation personal, he was sure of being able to manage her, and further his own ends. It amused him. She busied herself with a lace handkerchief as she continued, in a low voice, as if she were ridding herself of a disagreeable task, and always with the slow, monotonous turning of her questing eyes toward him, and away. "Of course I’ve heard many things about you—you’re a good deal talked about, you know; but it’s not that at all—it’s an instinctive knowledge I have about you. I can’t explain it. It’s a queer special feeling—almost as if, in some way, I had the right to know. That’s why I wanted to see you again—I hoped you’d come. I wanted to tell you." "But all that certainly is flattering," he said. "I wouldn’t be human if I weren’t pleased to hear that you’re interested, even if—" She could not help breaking into smiles again, as she interrupted him. "Oh, but I haven’t told you yet." "Please do, then!"