The old man did not answer for a moment or two. He looked his visitor through and through with his wise gray eyes—an investigation which might have disconcerted some people, but Halcyone was unabashed.
"I know what you are doing," she said. "You are seeing the other side of my head—and I wish I could see the other side of yours, I can the Aunts' La Sarthe and Priscilla's, in a minute, but yours is different."
"I am glad of that—you might be disappointed, though, if you did see what was there."
"I always want to see," she said simply—"see everything; and sometimes I find the other side not a bit what this is—even in the birds and trees and the beetles. But you must have a huge big one."
The old man laughed.
"You and I are going to be good acquaintances," he said. "Tell me some more of Perseus. What more do you know of him?"
"I have only read 'The Heroes,'" Halcyone admitted, "but I know it by heart—and I know it is all true though my governess says it is fairy-tales and not for girls. I want to learn Greek, but they can't teach me."
"That is too bad."
"When things are put vaguely I always want to know, them—I want to know why Medusa turned into a gorgon? What was her sin?"
The old man smiled.