"I am only observant," he answered evasively.
"Your gift of observation must be truly wonderful—you manage to exercise it at so great a distance, or perhaps you send out your astral body to do the observing, which must be the reason why it's invisible to me."
"I dare not speak at all. You turn my every word into a scourge against me."
"Don't you feel you deserve the scourging?"
"I have had another melancholy fit," he urged, forced to defend himself.
"Poor Morgan!" she said, pityingly. "I do believe you have some trouble that you are keeping to yourself. Do you know, I've been thinking so for some time now. You don't trust your friends sufficiently. Come now, isn't my surmise near the truth?"
The tears almost welled up to his eyes. He did not answer her, for he could not speak at all; but his silence was tantamount to an admission.
"Poor Morgan!" she repeated softly, as if to herself, and the sympathy in her voice troubled him still more. "And the trouble? Of course, you are going to tell me first."
"Well, not to-night," he answered, closing his heart against her with a superhuman effort. "I must not spoil your evening."
"Do you think I shall enjoy it, now that I know?"