“How did you guess that I was going to say poetry?”
“It was obvious. The two go together.”
“So they do. Do you know, Mrs. Lehmyl, if I were to try my hand at guesswork, I think I could name your favorite poet.”
“Indeed; who is he?”
“Robert Browning.”
Mrs. Lehmyl cast a half surprised, half startled glance at Arthur. “Are you a mind-reader? Or was it simply a chance hit?” she asked.
“Then I was right?”
“Yes, you were right, though I ought not to tell you so. You ought not to know your power, if power it was, and not mere random’ guesswork. One with that faculty of penetrating another’s mind must be a dangerous associate. But tell me, what hint did I let fall, that made you suspect I should be fond of Browning?”
“If I should answer that question, I am afraid you might deem me presumptuous. I could not do so, without paying you a compliment.”
“Then, leave it unanswered,” she said, coldly.