That is what troubles me so. It is something I cannot
understand. I don't know what has come over me. I will be honest
with you,--and with myself. I do not really trust him. I don't
believe he is all that he claims to be. And yet,--and yet, Aunt
Nancy, I,--I--"
"Don't try to tell me," broke in the older woman gently. "My only
sister thought she was in love with Terry Moore, a fellow who had
been in the penitentiary once for stealing, and was a drunkard,
a gambler, and a bad man with women, and all that. She was crazy
about him. She ran off with him and got married. She never was in
love with him, Alix. She hated him after a few weeks. He just cast
some kind of a spell over her--not a mental spell, you may be sure.
It was something physical. He was slick and smart and good looking,
and he just made up his mind to get her. A man can be awful nice
when he has once set his heart on getting a girl,--and that's
what fools 'em, great and small. All the mistakes are not made by
ignorant, scatter-brained girls, my dear. My father used to say that
the more sense a woman has, the more likely she is to do something
foolish. Now, Alix dear, I know just how it is with you. Courtney
Thane has cast a spell over you. I believe in spells, same as the
old New Englander used to believe in witchcraft. You don't love
him, you don't actually believe in him.
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