There is something compelling in the human eye, a magnetism upon which
Science has yet to put her cold and unromantic finger. Have you never
experienced the sensation that some [Transcriber's note: someone?] was
looking at you? Doubtless you have. Well, Max presently turned his
glance toward his silent fellow traveler. She had lifted her veil and
was staring at him with wondering, fearing eyes. These eyes were
somewhat red, as if the little bees of grief had stung them.
"You!" he cried, the blood thumping into his throat. He tossed his hat
to the floor and started for her end of the compartment.
She held up a hand as if to ward off his approach. "I can hear
perfectly," she said; "it is not needful that you should come any
nearer."
He sat down confused. He could not remember when his heart had beaten
so irregularly.
"May I ask how you came to enter this compartment?" she asked coldly.
"I jumped in,"--simply. What was to account for this strange attitude?
"So I observe. What I meant was, by what right?"
"It happened to be the only door at hand, and I was in a great hurry."
Where was his usual collectedness of thought? He was embarrassed and
angry at the knowledge.
"Did you follow me?" Her nostrils were palpitating and the corners of
her mouth were drawn aggressively.
"Follow you?" amazed that such an idea should enter into her head.
"Why, you are the last person I ever expected to see again. Indeed,
you are only a fairy-story; there is, I find, no such person as
Hildegarde von Heideloff." Clearly he was recovering.
"I know it,"--candidly. "It was my mother's name, and I saw fit to use
it." She really hoped he _hadn't_ followed her.
"You had no need to use it, or any name, for that matter. When I gave
you my name it was given in good faith. The act did not imply that I
desired to know yours."
"But you did!"--imperiously.
"Yes. Curiosity is the brain of our mental anatomy." When Max began
to utter tall phrases it was a sign of even-balanced mentality.
"And if I hadn't told you my name, you would have asked for it."
"Not the first day."
"Well, you would have on Tuesday."
"Not a bit of a doubt." He certainly wouldn't show her how much he
cared. (What was she doing in this carriage? She had said nothing
that morning about traveling.)
"Well, you will admit that under the circumstances I had the right to
give any name it pleased me to give."
He came over to her end and sat down. Her protests (half-hearted) he
ignored.