She sighed, stood twisting her white-gloved fingers, looking away from him.
"I am clairvoyant," she breathed.
"Athalie! You?"
She nodded.
For a second or two he stood silent in his astonishment; then, taking her hand, he drew her around facing the light, and she looked up at him in her lovely abashed way, yet so honestly, that anybody who could recognise truth and candour, could never have mistaken such eyes as hers.
"Who told you that you are clairvoyant?" he asked.
"My mother."
"Then—"
"It was not necessary for anybody to tell me that I saw—more clearly—than other people.... Mother knew it.... She merely explained and gave a name to this—this—whatever it is—this quality—this ability to see clearly.... That is all, Clive."