Ellen shook her head. “They all do it. They’re all alike, every one of them. One rarely meets a look that is pure.”

Mr. Bondy pursed his lips for a whistle. Aha, so that’s what it is! Old Machat’s religious community!

“Yes,” Ellen replied to his thoughts. “You ought to come and join us.”

“Oh, of course,” cried Mr. Bondy; and in his mind he said, “A nice girl like this! It’s a shame.”

“Why is it a shame?” asked Ellen gently.

“Oh, come, Ellen,” protested Bondy. “You are a thought-reader. That isn’t fair. If people were to read each other’s thoughts they could never decently associate with one another. It’s very indiscreet of you to know what I am thinking.”

“What am I to do?” said Ellen. “Everyone who knows God has this same gift. Every one of your thoughts is born in my mind as soon as in yours. I don’t read it, I have it myself. If you only knew how purifying it is when one can judge of every hidden baseness!”

“Hm,” muttered Mr. Bondy, trembling lest anything should cross his mind.

“It is indeed,” Ellen assured him. “It has cured me, with the help of God, of the love of riches. I should be ever so glad if the scales were to fall from your eyes, too.”

“God forbid,” exclaimed G. H. Bondy, horrified. “But tell me, do you understand everything that you . . . er . . . see in people like this?”

“Yes, perfectly.”

“Then listen to me, Ellen,” said Bondy. “I can tell you everything, for you’d read it in me in any case. I could never marry a woman who would be able to read my thoughts. She could be religious to her heart’s content, boundlessly charitable to the poor; I’m able to afford it, and besides, it’s good publicity. I’d put up even with virtue, Ellen, for love of you. I’d put up with anything. I have loved you after my fashion, Ellen. I can tell you so because you can read it for yourself. But, Ellen, neither business nor society is possible without thoughts that are not disclosed. And marriage, above all things, is impossible without thoughts that are not disclosed. It is unthinkable, Ellen. And even if you find the holiest of men, don’t marry him as long as you can read his thoughts. A little illusion is the only bond between mortals that never breaks. Saint Ellen, you must not marry.”

“Why not?” said Saint Ellen in soft tones. “Our God is not opposed to nature; He only sanctifies it. He does not ask us to mortify ourselves. He bids us live and be fruitful. He wants us to . . .”