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           "Iwasasked,"Amorysaidjoyfully;"youaskedme—youknowyoudid."

           "DonJuanalwaysmanagesthat,"shesaid,laughing,"butIshan’tcallyouthatanymore,becauseyou’vegotreddishhair.Insteadyoucanrecite’Ulalume’andI’llbePsyche,yoursoul."

           Amoryflushed,happilyinvisibleunderthecurtainofwindandrain.Theyweresittingoppositeeachotherinaslighthollowinthehaywiththeraincoatspreadovermostofthem,andtheraindoingfortherest.AmorywastryingdesperatelytoseePsyche,butthelightningrefusedtoflashagain,andhewaitedimpatiently.GoodLord!supposingshewasn’tbeautiful—supposingshewasfortyandpedantic—heavens!Suppose,onlysuppose,shewasmad.Butheknewthelastwasunworthy.HerehadProvidencesentagirltoamusehimjustasitsentBenvenutoCellinimentomurder,andhewaswonderingifshewasmad,justbecausesheexactlyfilledhismood.

           "I’mnot,"shesaid.

           "Notwhat?"

           "Notmad.Ididn’tthinkyouweremadwhenIfirstsawyou,soitisn’tfairthatyoushouldthinksoofme."

           "Howonearth—"

           AslongastheykneweachotherEleanorandAmorycouldbe"onasubject"andstoptalkingwiththedefinitethoughtofitintheirheads,yettenminuteslaterspeakaloudandfindthattheirmindshadfollowedthesamechannelsandledthemeachtoaparallelidea,anideathatotherswouldhavefoundabsolutelyunconnectedwiththefirst.