“Well?”
He seemed to hesitate at a dangerous topic. “The other,” he said.
Melville’s silence bade him go on.
He plunged from his prepared attitude. “What is it? Why should—this being—come into my life, as she has done, if it is so simple? What is there about her, or me, that has pulled me so astray? She has, you know. Here we are at sixes and sevens! It’s not the situation, it’s the mental conflict. Why am I pulled about? She has got into my imagination. How? I haven’t the remotest idea.”
“She’s beautiful,” meditated Melville.
“She’s beautiful certainly. But so is Miss Glendower.”
“She’s very beautiful. I’m not blind, Chatteris. She’s beautiful in a different way.”
“Yes, but that’s only the name for the effect. Why is she very beautiful?”
Melville shrugged his shoulders.
“She’s not beautiful to every one.”