"Yes, I do," she snapped viciously as she turned toward the door. But she looked back at him before she went out.
"As far as that goes," he said slowly, "I'm not sure
you're wrong, Madame Zabriska. But I could never marry her."
The Imp launched a prophecy, confidently, triumphantly, maliciously.
"Before very long she'll be the one to say that, and you've got yourself to thank for it too! Good-by!"
She was gone. Harry sat down and slowly filled and lit his pipe. It was probably all nonsense; but again he recollected Cecily's words: "If ever the time comes, I shall remember!"
Whatever might be the state of his feelings toward her, or of hers toward him, a satisfactory outcome seemed impossible. And somehow this notion had the effect of spoiling the success of the day for Harry Tristram; so that among the Imp's whirling words there was perhaps a grain or two of wisdom. At least his talk with her did not make Harry's visions less constant or less intense.