"You mean Mr. Bartol has asked you?"
"Yes—Miss."
"Well, you should feel exalted, Marie. It will be a wonderful experience."
"I suppose so, Miss, but my hands are all cold and my stomach sick with thinking of it."
Leo laughed. "You're psychic, that's what's the matter with you."
"Oh, do you think so!"
"Let me take your hands." Marie gave them. Leo smiled. "Cold and wet! Yes, you are it! But don't let it interfere with dinner. I'm hungry as a bear. Cheer up. I'd give anything to be a psychic."
"I shall flunk it, Miss; I can't go through it, really."
"Nonsense! It will be good as a play."
Half an hour later the others came in, and Leo heard Victor's voice in the hall with a feeling of distaste. She had gone out to him during that moonlit walk, and was suffering now a natural revulsion. It had not been love; it had been (she admitted) only physical attraction, and the fault, the weakness, had been hers. His presuming upon her moment of compliance was of the nature of man. It had frightened her to discover such deeps within herself. "We are all animals at bottom," she charged, in the unnatural cynicism of youth.