n the world. One day the smile
lasted so long, was so strange and dubious, and so full of a weird
intelligence, that it chilled him; it crept to his bones, disconcerted
him, and set him wondering. The uneasy questions that had haunted him at
the first, recurred. Why was this girl so facile, who had seemed so
proud, and whose full lips curved so naturally? Was she really won, or
was she with some hidden motive only playing with him? The notion was
not flattering to a fine gentleman's vanity; and in any other case he
would have given himself credit for conquest. But he had discovered that
this girl was not as other girls; and then there was that puzzling
smile. He had surprised it half a dozen times before.

'What is it?' he said abruptly, holding her eyes with his. This time he
was determined to clear up the matter.

'What?' she asked in apparent innocence. But she coloured, and he saw
that she understood.

'What does your smile mean, Pulcherrima?'

'Only--that I was reading your thoughts, Sir George,' she answered. 'And
they were not of me.'

'Impossible!' he said. I vow, Julia--'

'Don't vow,' she answered quickly, 'or when you vow--some other time--I
may not be able to believe you! You were not thinking of me, Sir George,
but of your home, and the avenue of which you told me, and the elms in
which the rooks lived, and the river in which you used to fish. You were
wondering to whom they would go, and who would possess them, and who
would be born in the room in which you were born, and who would die in
the room in which your father died.'

'You are a witch!' he said, a spasm of pain crossing his face.

'Thank you,' she answered, looking at him over her fan. 'Last time you
said, "D--n the girl!" It is clear I am improving your manners, Sir
George. You are now so polite, that presently you will consult me.'

So she could read his very thoughts! Could set him on the rack! Could
perceive when pain and not irritation underlay the oath or the
compliment. He was always discovering something new in her; something
that piqued his curiosity, and kept him amused. 'Suppose I consult you
now?' he said.

She swung her fan to and fro, playing with it childishly, looking at the
light through it, and again dropping it until it hung from her wrist by
a ribbon. 'As your highness pleases,' she said at last. 'Only I warn
you, that I am not the Bottle Conjuror.'

'No, for you are here, and he was not there,' Sir George answered,