ith love for a man like Roger Seaton who, according to his own
account, had no belief in love's existence. And the "fairy woman" she
spoke of--who could that be but Morgana Royal? After his recent
interview with Seaton his thoughts were rather in a whirl, and he
sought for a bit of commonplace to which he could fasten them without
the risk of their drifting into greater confusion. Yet that bit of
commonplace was hard to find with a woman's lovely passionate eyes
looking straight into his, and the woman herself, a warm-blooded
embodiment of exquisite physical beauty, framed like a picture among
the scented myrtle boughs under the dusky violet sky, where glittered a
few stars with that large fiery brilliance so often seen in California.
He coughed--it was a convenient thing to cough--it cleared the throat
and helped utterance.

"I--I--well!--I hardly think he is lonely"--he said at last,
hesitatingly--"Perhaps you don't know it--but he's a very clever
man--an inventor--a great thinker with new ideas--"

He stopped. How could this girl understand him? What would she know of
"inventors"--and "thinkers with new ideas"? A trifle embarrassed, he
looked at her. She nodded her dark head and smiled.

"I know!" she said--"He is a god!"

Sam Gwent almost jumped. A god! Oh, these women! Of what fantastic
exaggerations they are capable!

"A god!" she repeated, nodding again, complacently; "He can do
anything! I feel that all the time. He could rule the whole world!"

Gwent's nerves "jumped" for the second time. Roger Seaton's own
words--"I'll be master of the world" knocked repeatingly on his brain
with an uncomfortable thrill. He gathered up the straying threads of
his common sense and twisted them into a tough string.

"That's all nonsense!" he said, as gruffly as he could--"He's not a god
by any means! I'm afraid you think too much of him, Miss--Miss--er--"

"Soriso," finished Manella, gently--"Manella Soriso."

"Thank you!" and Gwent sought for a helpful cigar which he lit--"You
have a very charming name! Yes--believe me, you think too much of him!"

"You say that? But--are you not his friend?"

Her tone was reproachful.

But Gwent was now nearly his normal business self again.

"No,--I am scarcely his friend"--he replied--"'Friend' is a big
word,--it implies more than most men ever mean. I just know him--I've
met him several times, and I know he worked for a while under
Edison--and--and that's about all. Then I TH