THE SACRED FOUNT
She couldn't quite be sure where I was taking her. "It isn't, perhaps, so much that you see them———"
I started. "As that I perpetrate them?"
She was sure now, however, and wouldn't have it, for she was serious. "Dear no—you don't perpetrate anything. Perhaps it would be better if you did!" she tossed off with an odd laugh. "But—always by people's idea—you like them."
I followed. "Horrors?"
"Well, you don't———"
"Yes———?"
But she wouldn't be hurried now. "You take them too much for what they are. You don't seem to want———"
"To come down on them strong? Oh, but I often do!"
"So much the better then."
"Though I do like—whether for that or not," I hastened to confess, "to look them first well in the face."
Our eyes met, with this, for a minute, but she made nothing of that. "When they have no face, then, you can't do it! It isn't at all events now a question," she went on, "of people's keeping anything back, and you're perhaps in any case not the person to whom it would first have come."
I tried to think then who the person would be. "It would have come to Long himself?"
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