Mr. Senator Gwent was perplexed. He had not looked to stumble on a romantic episode, yet here was one ready made to his hand. His nature was ill attuned to romance of any kind, but he felt a certain compassion for this girl, so richly dowered with physical beauty, and smitten with love for a man like Roger Seaton who, according to his own account, had no belief in love's existence. And the "fairy woman" she spoke of--who could that be but Morgana Royal? After his recent interview with Seaton his thoughts were rather in a whirl, and he sought for a bit of commonplace to which he could fasten them without the risk of their drifting into greater confusion. Yet that bit of commonplace was hard to find with a woman's lovely passionate eyes looking straight into his, and the woman herself, a warm-blooded embodiment of exquisite physical beauty, framed like a picture among the scented myrtle boughs under the dusky violet sky, where glittered a few stars with that large fiery brilliance so often seen in California. He coughed--it was a convenient thing to cough--it cleared the throat and helped utterance. "I--I--well!--I hardly think he is lonely"--he said at last, hesitatingly--"Perhaps you don't know it--but he's a very clever man--an inventor--a great thinker with new ideas--" He stopped. How could this girl understand him? What would she know of "inventors"--and "thinkers with new ideas"? A trifle embarrassed, he looked at her. She nodded her dark head and smiled. "I know!" she said--"He is a god!" Sam Gwent almost jumped. A god! Oh, these women! Of what fantastic exaggerations they are capable! "A god!" she repeated, nodding again, complacently; "He can do anything! I feel that all the time. He could rule the whole world!" Gwent's nerves "jumped" for the second time. Roger Seaton's own words--"I'll be master of the world" knocked repeatingly on his brain with an uncomfortable thrill. He gathered up the straying threads of his common sense and twisted them into a tough string. "That's all nonsense!" he said, as gruffly as he could--"He's not a god by any means! I'm afraid you think too much of him, Miss--Miss--er--" "Soriso," finished Manella, gently--"Manella Soriso." "Thank you!" and Gwent sought for a helpful cigar which he lit--"You have a very charming name! Yes--believe me, you think too much of him!" "You say that? But--are you not his friend?" Her tone was reproachful. But Gwent was now nearly his normal business self again. "No,--I am scarcely his friend"--he replied--"'Friend' is a big word,--it implies more than most men ever mean. I just know him--I've met him several times, and I know he worked for a while under Edison--and--and that's about all. Then I THINK"--he was cautious here--"I THINK I've seen him at the house of a very wealthy lady in New York--a Miss Royal--" "Ah!" exclaimed Manella--"That is the name of the fairy woman who came here!" Gwent went on without heeding her.