"'You read my thoughts,' I exclaimed, bitterly. 'It is not fair—'
"'Fair or not, I know what you consider me—ill-bred, common, pleased with any sort of attention. Oh! why should I waste one word—one thought on you?'
"'Miss Wyeth—' I began, but she interrupted me.
"'Would you dare tell me what you think of me?—Would you dare tell me what you think of my father?'
"I was silent. She turned and mounted two steps of the stairway, then faced me again.
"'Do you think it was for my own pleasure that I permitted myself to be left alone with you? Do you imagine that I am flattered by your attention?—do you venture to think I ever could be? How dared you think what you did think there on the sea-wall?'
"'I cannot help my thoughts!' I replied.
"'You turned on me like a tiger when you awoke from your trance. Do you really suppose that you mewed? Are you not aware that my father hypnotized you?'
"'No—I did not know it,' I said. The hot blood tingled in my finger-tips, and I looked angrily at her.
"'Why do you imagine that I waste my time on you?' she said. 'Your vanity has answered that question—now let your intelligence answer it. I am a Pythagorean; I have been chosen to bring in a convert, and you were the convert selected for me by the Mahatmas of the Consolidated Trust Company. I have followed you from New York to Antwerp, as I was bidden, but now my courage fails, and I shrink from fulfilling my mission, knowing you to be the type of man you are. If I could give it up—if I could only go away—never, never again to see you! Ah, I fear they will not permit it!—until my mission is accomplished. Why was I chosen—I, with a woman's heart and a woman's pride. I—I hate you!'