"I don't know," said Sypher, looking at the back of his gloves; then he
turned his head and met her eyes in one of his quick glances. "But you,
with your color and your build and your voice, seem somehow to me to stand
for Force--there's something big about you--just as there's something big
about me--Napoleonic--and I can't understand why it doesn't act in some
particular direction."

"Oh, you must give me time," cried Zora. "Time to expand, to find out what
kind of creature I really am. I tell you I've been in prison. Then I
thought I was free and found a purpose, as you call it. Then I had a
knock-down blow. I am a widow--I supposed you've guessed. Oh, now, don't
speak. It wasn't grief. My married life was a six-weeks' misery. I forget
it. I went away from home free five months ago--to see all this"--she waved
her hand--"for the first time. Whatever force I have has been devoted to
seeing it all, to taking it all in."

She spoke earnestly, just a bit passionately. In the silence that followed
she realized with sudden amazement that she had opened her heart to this
prime apostle of quackery. As he made no immediate reply, the silence grew
tense and she clasped her hands tight, and wondered, as her sex has done
from time immemorial, why on earth she had spoken. When he answered it was
kindly.

"You've done me a great honor in telling me this. I understand. You want
the earth, or as much of it as you can get, and when you've got it and
found out what it means, you'll make a great use of it. Have you many
friends?"

"No," said Zora. He had an uncanny way of throwing her back on to
essentials. "None stronger than myself."