"How many? One in a thousand! Oh, Clive, Clive, I know you so well—your family and your pride in them, your position and your security in it, your wide circle of friends, without which circle you would wander like a lost soul—yes, Clive, lost, forlorn, unhappy, even with me!"
She lifted her head from his shoulder and sat up, gazing intently straight ahead of her. In her eyes was a lovely azure light; her lips were scarcely parted; and so intent and fixed was her gaze that for a moment he thought she had caught sight of some concrete thing which held her fascinated.
But it was only that she "saw clearly" at that moment—something that had come into her field of vision—a passing shape, perhaps, which looked at her with curious, friendly, inquiring eyes,—and went its way between the fire and the young girl who watched it pass with fearless and clairvoyant gaze.
"Athalie?"
"Yes," she answered as in a dream.
"Athalie! What is the matter?"
She turned, looked at him almost blindly as her remoter vision cleared.
"Clive," she said under her breath, "go home."
"What?"