I watched the table for his card to fall, but as it did not, looked at him for the reason. He had forgotten us, and was lost in contemplation, with his eyes fixed upon me. The recognition of some impulse had mastered him. I must prevent Helen and Mr. Somers perceiving this! I shuffled the cards noisily, rustled my dress, looked right and left for my handkerchief to break the spell.
"How the wind moans!" said Helen. I understood her tone; she understood him, as I did.
"I like Rosville, Miss Perkins," cried Mr. Somers.
"Do you?" said Charles, clicking down his card, as though his turn had just come. "I must trump this in spite of you."
"I am tired of playing," I said.
"We are beaten, Miss Perkins," said Mr. Somers, rising. "Bring it here," to a servant going by with a tray and glasses. He drank a goblet of wine, before he offered us any. "Now give us music!" offering his arm to Helen, and taking her away. Charles and I remained at the table. "By the way," he said abruptly, "I have forgotten to give you a letter from your father—here it is." I stretched my hand across the table, he retained it. I rose from my chair and stood beside him.
"Cassandra," he said at last, growing ashy pale, "is there any other world than this we are in now?"
I raised my eyes, and saw my own pale face in the glass over the mantel above his head.
"What do you see?" he asked, starting up.
I pointed to the glass.