"No—only that I was drawn secretly to some one who was there, near me, out of sight. Of course, I've forgotten much of the impression, but now, as I remember it, it almost seems to me as if this little boy—whoever he was—must be related to me in some vague way—as if we had something in common. I wish I could find out about it. You know better the rationale of these things—they come to me only in flashes of intuition, suddenly, when I least expect them."
He sought desperately to divert her from the subject, summoning to his aid the tricks experience had taught him. First to his hand came the ruse of personality.
"You called me 'Francis' before—that was strange, for few people call me that or Frank nowadays—only one or two who have known me a long time."
"Ah, I didn't know what I was saying. It was strange, wasn't it? But you won't accuse me of coquetry at such a time, will you? You were in danger—I thought only of that."
"Oh, I don't mind," he said playfully.
"Nor do I."
"You'll call me Francis?"
She smiled. "Every time I rescue you."
There was evidently no lead for him there. He had to laugh, and give it up. Clytie's mood grew more serious.
"Mr. Cayley was telling me how interesting you were after the ladies had left; really, he was quite complimentary. He told me all about that absurd Bennett affair you talked about."