“Not I,” I said firmly. “He believes in two kinds of magic--white and black--and has eaten the fruit of the mango-tree that a fakir has just induced to grow out of the seed before his eyes. He told me once that devils were square. I’m not in the least interested in Wender’s rattlesnake. The wonder is, with his peculiar twist of mind, that he doesn’t insist on living in this house.” “He particularly hates snakes,” answered Lithway. “He was hoping to see _her_, but he never could. Nor you, apparently.” “How often do you see her?” “About once in six months.” “And you’re not afraid?” “Well--she doesn’t _do_ anything to me, you know.” He was very serious. “Probably couldn’t hurt you if she did--a young thing like that. But why don’t you move out?” Lithway frankly crimsoned. “I--like her.” “In spite of her eyes?” “In spite of her eyes. And--I’ve thought that look in them might be the cross light on the staircase.” I burst out laughing. “Lithway, come away with me. Solitude is getting on your nerves. We’ll go to Germany and look after your little cousin and the aunt who writes such wonderful letters.” “No.” Lithway was firm. “It’s too much like work.” I was serious, for he really seemed to me, at the time of this visit, in rather a bad way. I urged him with every argument I could think of. He had no counter-arguments, but finally he broke out: “Well, if you will have it, I feel safer here.” “You’ve never seen her anywhere else, have you?” “No.” “Then this seems to be the one point of danger.” “Wender’s theory is that--” he began. But I persisted in not hearing Wender’s theory. Even when, a week later, my own experience was exactly duplicated and I had spent another day in watching a white line fade off my forehead, I still persisted. But, as Lithway wouldn’t leave the house, I did. I began even to have a sneaking sympathy for Wender. But I didn’t want to hear his theory. Indeed, to this day I never have heard it. Oddly enough, though, I should be willing to wager a good sum that it was accurate.