The girl was deeply affected by the significance of this analysis. "You imagined all that."
He pushed on. "I did not, and, furthermore, Altair never came till you sat with my mother. She never attained such power—so your aunt agrees—till I came into the circle. She represented my conception of my mother and you. I loved my mother, and I admired you—and out of my love and admiration Altair was created."
"That is absurd! If ever a spirit came from heaven, Altair was that one. Why, she was palpable! I've touched her hands."
He said, slowly: "She was beautiful, I confess, so beautiful that on that first night she made even you seem coarse and material."
"I felt your disdain," she thrust in, with sudden hurt.
"But that was only for the moment. I could see nothing but her face—so sad, so wistful. But let me ask you something. Did you, the night after our walk on the drive in the moonlight—did you dream of me?"
Her lip curled in a wondering smile. "What a question to ask of me!"
"But did you? Come now, be honest. I have a reason for asking—did you?"
"What is your reason for asking?"
"That night Altair came to my bedside."