“Ah, well, that is not to be wondered at, Mr. Sibley,” she replied agreeably. “Very few people understand the true nature and source of their own impressions, to say nothing of those of another.”
“That is quite true, madame,” assented Nick, bowing.
“In fact, sir, I cannot say that I understand even my own,” added the woman, with a pretty display of frankness. “They are so vivid at times, yet frequently seem so utterly improbable, that I often shrink from expressing them. I should have felt so in this case, Mr. Sibley, and I doubt if I should have said what I did, sir, had it not come from me quite involuntarily, and before I could repress it. Of course, sir, I see that you are entirely alone.”
“You interest me,” smiled Nick, bent upon leading her on. “May I ask of what your present impressions consist?”
Madame Victoria drew forward in her chair, and rested her pretty arms upon the table. Her face became grave again, and once more her eyes briefly lingered upon the ring on Nick’s finger, yet in an absent way that did not attract his attention.
After a few moments, during which she appeared to be yielding to some outside influence, she looked up at him and said:
“There is something about you, sir, that I really cannot explain. I cannot get rid of this impression of a double personality here. I will try to fathom it, Mr. Sibley, if you will be patient.”
“Take your time, madame,” said Nick, smiling at her across the table.