She sighed.
"Perhaps not! But just now it seems a sort of devil's magic to me.
Anyhow, I'm glad he's gone. You're sorry, I suppose?"
"In a way I am,"—I answered, quietly—"I thought him very kind and charming and courteous—no one could be a better host or a pleasanter companion. And I certainly saw nothing 'devilish' about him. As for that collar of jewels, there are plenty of so-called 'thought-readers' who could have found out its existence and said as much of it as he did—"
She uttered a low cry.
"Don't speak of it!" she said—"For Heaven's sake, don't speak of it!"
She buried her face in her pillow, and I waited silently for her to recover. When she turned again towards me, she said—
"I am not well yet,—I cannot bear too much. I only want you to know before you go away that I have no unkind feeling towards you,—things seem pushing me that way, but I have not really!—and you surely will believe me—"
"Surely!" I said, earnestly—"Dear Catherine, do not worry yourself!
These impressions of yours will pass."
"I hope so!" she said—"I shall try to forget! And you—you will meet
Mr. Santoris again, do you think?"
I hesitated.