"Been trying any more experiments in hypnotism?" was Marven's greeting.
Guy shook his head and laughed. "I haven't been upon any railway journeys with unbelievers," he replied jestingly. He met the Captain's glance fearlessly, and again Marven felt ashamed of his suspicions.
"I was just coming to pay my respects to Mrs. Marven and Miss Challys," continued Guy.
The Captain turned to accompany him. "You need not tell the ladies how easily you bowled me out," he remarked. "I have been so blatantly cynical on the subject always that I should never hear the last of it."
"Why, certainly not," answered Guy, smiling. The Captain's attitude dispelled the last chance of his being connected in any way with the acquisition of the information which, when it had been made public, had created the most intense excitement. Clearly the Captain wished no one to know that he had allowed himself to be placed in an hypnotic trance while on duty, and Guy, for his own protection, was more than ready to fall in with the suggestion to keep silence concerning the episode.
"After all, it is a purely personal matter of absolutely no concern to anyone but our two selves," he added, as they reached the box.
Conveying his thanks with a nod, Marven opened the door, and, as Guy entered, all thought of the Captain passed from his mind. Only once previously had he met Meriel Challys, but the impression which she had produced upon him was one that would not easily be eradicated. He had first seen her floating towards him on some booby's arm at Lady Greyston's dance. Who the booby was and what the booby looked like Guy had not the faintest idea. He had no time to spare a glance for anyone else, once his eyes had rested on her face. But the man on whose arm she leaned so lightly must of necessity be a booby. Any mere man could be nothing but a booby in comparison with any personality so exquisitely ethereal as that given by nature to Meriel Challys. Guy had determined to take the place of that booby himself. He had enquired amongst his friends until he had obtained the introduction he desired. He had received one waltz and he had sat out one square dance in the plumbago bower at the end of the long gallery. He would never forget the fair picture she made, draped in maiden garb of white, her dazzling skin and hair framed in the tender blues of the drooping blossoms. It had been an effort for him to speak to so distractingly beautiful a subject, and it had been only the fear lest she should think him moonstruck which had forced him to unlock his lips. No wonder that the despoiling of Mr. Flurscheim's treasure-house had been postponed. Indeed, had the treasures been spread before him at that moment, Guy would have passed them by unnoticed.
That first impression of instinctive reverence had not endured. A fervid disciple of Hora's cynical philosophy could not remain for long in a state of ecstatic adoration of one of the sex provided "for the relaxation of the warrior."
But now, entering again into her presence, his first impression was revived with redoubled intensity. Again he saw her coming towards him. He remembered the Tennysonian line which flashed into his memory at first sight of her:
"Robed in white samite, mystic, wonderful."