"You notice it? It is so with me. Now then. Just a minute."

He pressed a button. A young lady answered his ring; she glanced
first at myself and then at the chemist.

"Miss Mills, this is Mr. Wendel. He is the owner of the gem. Would
you take it in your hand? And please tell Mr. Wendel how it feels--"

She laughed; she was a bit perplexed.

"I don't understand"--she turned to me--"we had the same dispute
yesterday. See, Mr. White says that it's cold; but it is not. It
is warm; almost burning. All the other girls think just as I do."

"And all the men as I do," averred the chemist, "even Mr. Wendel."

"Is it cold to you?" she asked. "Really--"

It was a turn I hadn't looked for. It was akin to life--this
relation to sex. Could it account for the strange isolation and
the weariness? I was a witness to its potency. Watson! I could
feel myself dragging under. I had just one question:

"Tell me, Miss Mills. Can you sense anything else; I mean beyond
its temperature?"

She smiled a bit. "I don't know what you mean exactly. It is a
beautiful stone. I would like to have it."

"You think its possession would make you happy?"