‘By his evidence, of course,’ replied Swami, who hesitated to recount the full extent of Sadbag’s revelations, which could only increase her embarrassment.
‘Is this all then, that the great Soul-reader can show me?’ exclaimed Mercia in a disappointed tone of voice; ‘I hoped to have seen the wonderful mind-reflecting mirror that all the world speaks of. Is there nothing at all in my future that is worthy of transmission to the plate? If nothing better, then show me my future husband;’ she demanded, while a roguish smile dimpled her face.
‘Show thee thy future husband!’ repeated Swami nervously, ‘I cannot, because I dare not,’ he added in evident excitement.
‘But I desire it,’ persisted Mercia, ‘I fain would learn if there be such an individual in store for me.’
‘I will tell thee whom thou shalt not marry, if that will suit,’ returned Swami earnestly; with a view of evading the inquiry.
‘That is indeed a negative method of satisfying a lady’s curiosity,’ laughed Mercia gaily. ‘Well, then whom shall I not marry?’
‘Neither Felicitas, nor Geometrus,’ replied he emphatically.
Mercia coloured violently upon hearing Geometrus’ name thus mentioned, then trying to regard it lightly, she observed—‘Who is it, show me his reflection?’
‘Not to-night. Come again, dear lady, and the portrait shall be in readiness for thee.’
‘Ah, Swami,’ returned Mercia sweetly; ‘I perceive that thou art only playing with me. Thou knowest full well, that neither love nor marriage is for me. If I win my case, I return to my post. My work is my bridegroom; I am bound to no other; for therein is centred my every thought—my whole life-work.’