“Even in this democratic America we still are proud of what we please to call blue blood, are we? Well, it may be foolish, but I reckon it won’t hurt us,” said Mark. “I hope many of us are better men than our ancestors of feudal times, however. Our women are certainly more intelligent, if we may believe history.” “Yes?” Tibby was looking out into the expanse dreamily, her eyes narrowed and yellow in the sunlight. “What do you call the restraints of society life?” questioned Mark suddenly. “The necessity of putting on war paint and feathers. The necessity of hiding behind a mask of conventionality and pleasant phrases, of fine clothes and fine speeches. I enjoy it immensely—immensely.” Tibby shut her lips tightly to emphasize her words. “But after all, it is artificial, and the only fun is seeing through it all. It’s really more fun to be a spectator than an actor in a comedy. The actors see all the tinsel and making up.” “But you have been an actor?” “Yes, in the minor roles.” “Tibby, Mrs. Wylie tells me you sometimes see people you do not like and have a way of punishing them.” “Yes,” said Tibby meekly; “sometimes.” “Miss Tibby, haven’t we walked about enough? Let us sit down upon this roller. I want to talk to you. You conquered Tempest very easily. I believe you have uncommon power,” he continued, as Tibby sat down and began to fan her face with her riding-hat. “Do you think so?” Tibby’s voice was mockingly suggestive. “Yes, I am convinced of it. And I have been waiting for an opportunity to ask how long you have known and used this power.” Tibby looked keenly at Mark. “I am not sure I understand you. To what power do you refer?” “The power to make every person or beast yield to your will. You are a hypnotist, Miss Waring, and an uncommonly powerful one.” The girl looked up eagerly. “Do you really think so, Mr. Cramer? I have wondered myself if that might not be the case. I know—have known for a long time—that if I really willed any one to do a thing, he was quite apt to do it. When I was a little girl I used to sit in church and make people turn and look at me—it was the only way I could amuse myself through those long sermons which my stepmother made me listen to every Sunday; and sometimes I have made people stumble, or even fall, just for fun or to punish them. I know it wasn’t a praiseworthy amusement, but—” Tibby hesitated. “You can put Robbie to sleep.” She nodded. “How did you know?” “I have been watching you.” “You don’t think there is any harm in it?” she questioned in a troubled voice. “Perhaps not, yet I do not think I would exercise my power in that way. It might weaken the lad’s will. I am sure you would not willingly do him harm.” “Oh, no, indeed! I never mean to do any one any harm. I have sometimes played jokes on the dudes at the hotels, or occasionally punished some one, as Mrs. Wylie told you.” “There is a person whom I wish you would punish, if it be in your power.” “And that is—?”