"A man?"
"No. Strange to say, a woman."
A sudden light flashed on her mind.
"I know!" she exclaimed—"But you will not see her! She has gone!"
"What do you mean?" he asked, impatiently—"What do you know?"
"Oh, I know nothing!" and there was a sobbing note of pathos in her voice—"But I feel HERE!"—and she pressed her hands against her bosom—"something tells me that you have seen HER—the little wonderful white woman, sweetly perfumed like a rose,—with her silks and jewels and her fairy car!—and her golden hair... ah!—you said you hated a woman with golden hair! Is that the woman you hate?"
He stood looking at her with an amused, half scornful expression.
"Hate is too strong a word"—he answered—"She isn't worth hating!"
Her brows contracted in a frown.
"I do not believe THAT!"—she said—"You are not speaking truly. More likely it is, I think, you love her!"