“Because I am as entirely ignorant of her as you are,” she answered without hesitation. “All I know is that she is a strange person—a woman possessed of powers so marvellous as to appear almost supernatural. Indeed, she seems the very incarnation of the Evil One himself. It was because of that I was angry when I knew that her beauty had entranced you.”
“But you are acquainted with her,” I declared. “Your words prove that.”
“No, I have had no dealings with her,” she answered. “I should fear to have, lest I should fall beneath her evil influence.”
“Then how did you know of my acquaintance with her?” I asked, noting how charming she was, and wondering within myself why during all the years that I had known her I had not discovered the true estimate of her beauty until that afternoon.
“The information was conveyed to me,” she responded vaguely.
“And you believed that I had forgotten you, Muriel?” I said tenderly, in a voice of reproach.
“It is certain that you were held powerless under that spell which she can cast over men at will. You reposed in contentment beneath her fascination, and called it love.”
“But it was not love,” I hastened to assure her. “I admired her, it is true, but surely you do not think that I could love a woman who is thus under suspicion?”
“Had your friend ever spoken of her?” she inquired after a brief silence.
“No,” I said. “Aline, however, admitted that she knew him, but strangely enough declared that he had committed suicide at Monte Carlo months before.”