"Your looking-glass will tell you why they say that," he said gravely.
Her smile showed the perfect rows of white teeth. "You are recovering rapidly, Mr. Kenneth; don't you think so? Or was that only a little return of the fever?"
He brushed the bit of mockery aside. "I want to be serious to-day—if you'll let me. There are a lot of things I'd like to know."
"About Wahaska?"
"About you, first. Where did we meet?—before I came out of the fever woods and saw you standing by the bed?"
"We didn't 'meet,' in the accepted meaning of the word. My father and I happened to sit at your table one evening in the Hotel Chouteau, in St. Louis."
"Ah; I knew there was a day back of the other days. Do you believe in destiny?"
She nodded brightly. "Sometimes I do; when it brings things out the way I want them to come out."
"I've often wondered," he went on musingly. "Think of it: somewhere back in the past you took the first step in a path which was to lead you to that late supper in the Chouteau. Somewhere in my past I took the first step in the crooked trail that was to lead me there."
"Well?" she encouraged.