and the girl's manner and words were extraordinary. It could hardly
be possible, even in cold blood, to understand their meaning. She
was indisputably not acting. What she had said was very strange and
unconventional, but from whatever source the words had sprung, they
had not been uttered with the intention premeditated or spontaneous
of making an impression upon him. They carried conviction of their
sincerity with them, and Dartmouth was sensible that they produced
a somewhat uncanny but strangely responsive effect upon himself.
But what did it mean? That in some occult way she had been granted
a glimpse into the depths of his nature was unthinkable. He was not
averse to indulging a belief in affinity; and that this girl was his
was not a disagreeable idea; but his belief by no means embraced a
second, to the effect that the soul of one's antitype is as an open
book to the other. Could her mind be affected? But no. She was a very
unusual girl, possibly an eccentric one; but he flattered himself
that he knew a lunatic when he saw one. There was left then but the
conclusion that she possessed a strongly and remarkably sympathetic
nature, as yet unbridled and unblunted by the world, and that he had
made a dangerous imprint upon it. He was not unduly vain, but he was
willing to believe that she would not vibrate so violently to every
man's touch.

This point settled to the best of his capabilities, he allowed a
second consciousness, which had been held under for the moment,
during the exercisings of his analytical instinct, to claim his
consideration. He was sensible that he was attracted as he had never
been attracted by woman before. He had felt something of this on the
night he had met her, and he had felt it more strongly on the occasion
of their second interview; but now he was aware that it had suddenly
taken the form of an overmastering desire for possession. He was by