“I cannot see that I have been so near ruin as you would make out,” I exclaimed, philosophically. “An unrequited love is an incident in most men’s lives.”
“Ah! she spared you!” she cried. “If she had smitten you, you would have perished as swiftly as objects dissolve into ashes when she is present. At least she pitied you. And you were doubly fortunate.”
“Yes,” I said, reflecting upon her words, at the same time recollecting her mysterious connection with poor Roddy Morgan. “She was without doubt endowed with a power that was inexplicable.”
“Inexplicable!” she echoed. “It was supernatural. Things withered at her touch.”
“If I, your friend, am fortunate in my escape, would it not be but an act of friendship to explain to me all you know concerning her?”
Her dark, luminous eyes met mine in a long, earnest glance.
“No!” she answered, after a moment’s reflection. “I have already explained. You have escaped; the incident is ended.” And she added with a laugh, “Your neglect of me was, of course, fully justified in such circumstances.”
“Now, that’s unfair, Muriel,” I exclaimed. “I had no intention of neglecting you, neither had I the slightest suspicion that you desired me to say farewell to you. Have you not told me that you have an admirer whom you could love? Surely that is sufficient. Love him, and we may always remain friends, as we now are.”
“No!” she responded, with a dark look of foreboding. “We cannot remain friends longer. Our mutual confidence is shattered. We may be acquaintances, but nothing more.”
I had not mentioned poor Roddy’s death, for it was a subject so painful that I discussed it as little as possible. Was it not, however, likely that if I explained all the circumstances and told her my suspicions, her hatred might lead her to disclose some clue whereby I might trace Aline Cloud?