"What privilege?"
"The privilege of knowing you and meeting you. It was, at least, promised me in a dream. You will not set aside a promise so mysterious?"
"Are you a fatalist? I am. If you are not, you will ridicule my weakness, as you will call it. But much may be forgiven to persons who lead such self-contained lives as I. So, if we are to become friends, our friendship is preordained, and my rebelling against it would be foolish."
"If we are to be friends, I shall become a fatalist. A creed made tempting by such a reward is irresistible. I have your permission to call again?"
"You are your own master."
The reply was sufficient. I extended my hand; she gave me hers. I held it for a moment, and we separated.