He broke the momentary silence by saying, with a distinctly tender tone, "Are you thinking of Colorow? I am."
She flushed and started a little. "Yes."
"I was recalling my first view of you—a fragment of sunset cloud caught on a mountain-crag."
Her face grew wistful. "That seems a long time ago to me."
"It doesn't to me. It seems but yesterday. My trip that year was a symphonic poem with a most moving final movement. I have thought of it a thousand times." He paused a moment, then added: "Well, now, here you are in New York, and here I am, and what of your music? I was to advise you, you remember."
Her head lifted in defiance, an adorable gesture. "You know my secret now." It was as if she said, "Come, let us have it over."
He replied, very gently; "I knew something of it then. Dr. Britt told me something of it at the time."
Her eyes bravely searched his. "Was that why you did not come to say good-bye to us?" His glance fell in a wish that she had been less cruelly direct. She went on: "You needn't answer. I'm used to being treated that way. I knew somebody had told you I was a medium. You despised me when you found out about me—everybody does, except those who want to use me. All the people I really want to know go by on the other side as if I were a leper. It was so in Boston; it is going to be the same here."
Mrs. Lambert interposed. "That is not true, Dr. Serviss. We met many nice people in Boston."
"Yes, mamma—nice people who wanted me to tell their fortunes."