"She was a very beautiful lady who prophesied disagreeable things that no one believed."
Élise ignored the emphasis which Firmstone unconsciously placed on beautiful. She grew thoughtful, endeavouring to grasp his analogy.
"I think," she said, slowly, "I'm no Cassandra." She looked sharply at Firmstone. "Daddy says you're going; Mo-reeson says you're going, and they put their chips on the right number pretty often."
Firmstone laughed lightly.
"Oh, well, it isn't for daddy and Morrison to say whether I'm to go or not."
"Who's this Mr. Hartwell?" Élise asked, abruptly.
"He's the man who can say."
"Then you are up against it!" Élise spoke with decision. There was a suggestion of regret in her eyes.
"These things be with the gods." Firmstone was half-conscious of a lack of dignity in seeming to be interested in personal matters, not intended for his immediate knowledge. Several times he had decided to end the episode, but the mobile face and speaking eyes, the half-childish innocence and unconscious grace restrained him.
"I don't believe it." Élise looked gravely judicial.