The girl withdrew her hands suddenly; she drew in her breath swiftly, paling a little.
"That's my name, Clytie Payson! It's wonderful! Go on, please!"
She gave him her gracilent, dewy hands again, and he thrilled to their provocative spell. He took advantage of her distraction to enjoy them lightly. When he spoke there was no hesitation in his voice.
"I don't understand this! I don't know who these people are, or where they are, and it seems ridiculous to tell it. But there is a fearfully disordered room with the sun coming in through dirty, broken windows. The floor is covered with rubbish, there's no furniture but a few old boxes. I see two women and a little girl. They are in old-fashioned costumes."
Clytie's face was pale, now, and she watched him breathlessly.
"One of the women has white hair and vivid black eyebrows. She talks wildly sometimes; sometimes she's quite calm. The other woman is middle-aged and has a soft voice. The little girl is dressed in blue; she is sitting on a box listening. The crazy woman is kissing her."
He shook himself, shuddered and opened his eyes, to find Miss Payson gazing upon him, her hand to her heart.
"It's strange!" she said.
"It sounds nonsensical, I suppose," he said, "but that's just what I get. Can you make anything of it?"'
"It's all true!" said Clytie. "That very thing happened to me when I was a little girl—so long ago, that I had almost forgotten it."