She's maybe afraid HI be too serious. She's afraid maybe I'll go for her in a big way.
The lean narrow face of Zarah the mind reader rose mistily before Ken's eyes.
"You are thinking of life and love," boomed Zarah's rich resonant voice. His eyes were piercingly black and his skin sallow. Even on this noonday street, he wore his morning dress and his turban.
"I see you walking," he said. "I like to talk to you, young man. You dance so beautifully and you are always so serious."
"You liked my dance?"
"I think you are magnificent." His voice lowered, his lips close to Ken's ear: "In costume, you must be so beautiful."
"In costume?"
"I should like you to visit me in my home in San Diego sometime. I show you a Spanish gown … ah, I wore it myself at the Chateau Richard in Van Nuys at the ball last season. A little alteration and it would become you so much better."
"How do you know?"
"La Lowell …"
Ken's heart thumped at the name. Zarah was smiling at Ken's embarrassment. "Pierre Fortand, he made my gowns. He told me."
"Told you what?"
"I know, too, you quarrel with him. I do not know him. I only know of him. They say he is very recherché; I do not know." Ken was unable to speak. "You will pardon me," continued Zarah, "if I bring back unhappy memories. I am a very terrible mind reader or I would not be
