"Yes," she said, her tone lower, "he did."
"Something very definite?"
She made no answer.
"What did you see?" he persisted gently. From woods and mountains, memory stepped back to a railway station and a customs official....
Her manner, obviously truthful, had deep wonder, mystery, even worship in it. He was aware of a nervous reaction he disliked, almost a chill. He listened for her next words with an interest he could hardly account for.
"Wings," she replied, an odd hush in her voice. "I thought of wings. He seemed to carry me off the earth with great rushing wings, as the wind blows a leaf. It was too lovely: I felt like a dancing flame. I thought he was——"
"What?" Something in his mind held its breath a moment.
"You won't laugh, Dr. Devonham, will you? I thought—for a second—of—an angel." Her voice died away.
For a second the part of his mood that held its breath struggled between anger and laughter. A moment's confusion in him there certainly was.
"That makes two in the room," he said gently, recovering himself. He smiled. But she did not hear the playful compliment; she did not see the smile. "You've a delightful, poetic little soul," he added under his breath, watching the big earnest eyes whose rapt expression met his own so honestly. Having made her confession she was still engrossed, absorbed, he saw, in her own emotion.... So this was the picture that LeVallon, by his mere appearance alone, left upon an impressionable young girl, an impression, he realized, that was profound and true and absolute, whatever value her own individual interpretation of it might have. Her mention of space, wind, fire, speed, he noticed in particular—"off the earth ... rushing wind ... dancing flame ... an angel!"