then
said pleasantly, "I was on the point of asking you whether such was not
the case. I was not sure, because you had your travelling cap pulled
over your face."

"How strange, though, that we were both bound for the same place!" I
said.

"Yes, it does seem remarkable; and yet it is not so wonderful, after
all. I am an old friend and schoolfellow of Emily Temple, while you, I
am told, are an old friend and schoolfellow of her brother. Thus nothing
is more natural than that we should be invited to such a gathering as
this."

"Do you know any of the people who are here?" I asked.

"I have met nearly all the young ladies, but only two of the
gentlemen--Mr. Voltaire and Mr. Kaffar. I saw them on the Continent."

"Indeed?" I said, while I have no doubt a dark look passed over my face.

"Do you not like them?" she asked.

"I do not know enough of either," I replied, "to give an answer
reasonably, either in the affirmative or the negative. I think my
failing is to form hasty judgments concerning people, which, of course,
cannot be fair."

I said this rather stammeringly, while she watched me keenly.

"That means that you do not like them," she said.

"Are you quite justified in saying that?" I replied, scarcely knowing
what else to say.

"Quite," she said. "You feel towards them just as I do. I was introduced
to them in Berlin. Mr. Tom Temple had formed their acquaintance somehow,
and seemed wonderfully fascinated by them. I scarcely spoke to them,
however, as I left Germany the next day, and was rather surprised to see
them here last night."

"Mr. Voltaire is a very fascinating man," I suggested.

"There can be no doubt about that," was her reply.

"And yet I fancy much of his high-flown talk about spiritualism was mere
imagination."

"I was inclined to think so at first, but I have heard strange things
about him. However, it is perhaps scarcely fair to talk about him thus."

All this time we had stood looking out of the window upon the wintry
landscape, and I, at least, was oblivious to all else but the fact that
I was talking with the woman whose interest for me was paramount, when a
lump of coal fell from the grate upon the fire-irons.

We both turned, and saw Herod Voltaire standing by a bookcase with an
open volume in his hand. A disinterested person might have fancied he
had not heard a word of our conversation, but I was sure I saw a steely
glitter in his eyes, and a cruel smile playing around hi