"Is it a time for compliments?" asked Santoris, with sudden sternness—"Harland, would you have me tell you ALL?"
Harland's face grew livid. He threw up his hand with a warning gesture.
"No!" he said, almost violently. He clutched the arm of his chair with a nervous grip, and for one instant looked like a hunted creature caught red-handed in some act of crime. Recovering himself quickly, he forced a smile.
"What about our little friend's 'aura'?"-he queried, glancing at me—"Does she 'express' herself in radiance?"
Santoris did not reply for a moment. Then he turned his eyes towards me almost wistfully.
"She does!"—he answered—"I wish you could see her as I see her!"
There was a moment's silence. My face grew warm, and I was vaguely embarrassed, but I met his gaze fully and frankly.
"And I wish I could see myself as you see me,"—I said, half laughingly—"For I am not in the least aware of my own aura."
"It is not intended that anyone should be visibly aware of it in their own personality,"—he answered—"But I think it is right we should realise the existence of these radiant or cloudy exhalations which we ourselves weave around ourselves, so that we may 'walk in the light as children of the light.'"
His voice sank to a grave and tender tone which checked Mr. Harland in something he was evidently about to say, for he bit his lip and was silent.