his own account, had no belief in love's existence. And the "fairy
woman" she spoke of--who could that be but Morgana Royal? After his
recent interview with Seaton his thoughts were rather in a whirl,
and he sought for a bit of commonplace to which he could fasten them
without the risk of their drifting into greater confusion. Yet that
bit of commonplace was hard to find with a woman's lovely passionate
eyes looking straight into his, and the woman herself, a warm-
blooded embodiment of exquisite physical beauty, framed like a
picture among the scented myrtle boughs under the dusky violet sky,
where glittered a few stars with that large fiery brilliance so
often seen in California. He coughed--it was a convenient thing to
cough--it cleared the throat and helped utterance.

"I--I--well!--I hardly think he is lonely"--he said at last,
hesitatingly--"Perhaps you don't know it--but he's a very clever
man--an inventor--a great thinker with new ideas--"

He stopped. How could this girl understand him? What would she know
of "inventors"--and "thinkers with new ideas"? A trifle embarrassed,
he looked at her. She nodded her dark head and smiled.

"I know!" she said--"He is a god!"

Sam Gwent almost jumped. A god! Oh, these women! Of what fantastic
exaggerations they are capable!

"A god!" she repeated, nodding again, complacently; "He can do
anything! I feel that all the time. He could rule the whole world!"

Gwent's nerves "jumped" for the second time. Roger Seaton's own