"I cannot tell you how or why"--he answered--"You would not believe me if I told you that sometimes in this wonderful world of ours, beings are born who are neither man nor woman, and who partake of a nature that is not so much human as elemental and ethereal--or might one not almost say, atmospheric? That is, though generated of flesh and blood, they are not altogether flesh and blood, but possess other untested and unproved essences mingled in their composition, of which as yet we can form no idea. We grope in utter ignorance of the greatest of mysteries--Life!--and with all our modern advancement, we are utterly unable to measure or to account for life's many and various manifestations. In the very early days of imaginative prophecy, the 'elemental' nature of certain beings was accepted by men accounted wise in their own time,--in the long ago discredited assertions of the Count de Gabalis and others of his mystic cult,--and I am not entirely sure that there does not exist some ground for their beliefs. Life is many-sided;--humanity can only be one facet of the diamond." Giulio Rivardi had listened with surprised attention. "You seem to imply then"--he said--"that this rich woman, Morgana Royal, is hardly a woman at all?--a kind of sexless creature incapable of love?" "Incapable of the usual kind of so-called 'love'--yes!" answered Aloysius--"But of love in other forms I can say nothing, for I know nothing!--she may be capable of a passion deep and mysterious as life itself. But come!--we might talk all night and arrive no closer to the solving of this little feminine problem! You are fortunate in your vocation of artist and designer, to have been chosen by her to carry out her conceptions of structural and picturesque beauty--let the romance stay there!--and do not try to become the husband of a Sphinx!" He smiled, resting his hand on the Marchese's shoulder with easy familiarity. "See where she stands!" he continued,--and they both looked towards the beautiful flower-bordered terrace at the verge of the gardens overhanging the sea where for the moment Morgana stood alone, a small white figure bathed in the deep rose afterglow of the sunken sun--"Like a pearl dropped in a cup of red wine!--ready to dissolve and disappear!" His voice had a strange thrill in it, and Giulio looked at him curiously. "You admire her very much, my father!" he said, with a touch of delicate irony in his tone. "I do, my son!" responded Aloysius, composedly, "But only as a poor priest may--at a distance!" The Marchese glanced at him again quickly,--almost suspiciously--and seemed about to say something further, but checked himself,--and the two walked on to join their hostess, side by side together. CHAPTER VIII