The question was grave, with the charming gravity that was wont to cross
his gayety as shadows chase each other across a sunlit pool. His lips
were parted naïvely, his curious slate-gray eyes demanded the truth.

[Illustration: TWO SOULS, DRAWN TOGETHER, TOUCHED IN A FIRST SUBTLE
FUSION]

The Irishman recognized the demand, and answered it.

"Now that you put it to me," he said, thoughtfully, "I'm not sure that I
can tell you. There's something about you--" His thoughtfulness
deepened, and he studied the boy through narrowed eyes. "It isn't that
you're odd in any way."

The boy reddened.

"It isn't that you're odd," he insisted, "but somehow you're such a slip
of a boy--" His voice grew meditative and he recurred to his native
trick of phrasing, as he always did when interested or moved.

"But why did you speak to me? I'm not interesting."

"Oh yes, you are!"

"How am I interesting?" There was a flash in the gray eyes that revealed
new flecks of gold.

The Irishman hesitated.

"Well, I can't explain it," he said, slowly, "unless I tell you that you