orrid thing--whatever it is. She wants to escape from Pratt and
Clarke and all the rest of those queer people. You must take it up,
Morton. _You_ must make up a committee and take charge of her."

"Clarke is mad. No reputable man of science will go on such a
committee. The girl will fall into the hands of notoriety-seekers--men
of position do not meddle with such questions."

Kate flared forth. "Why don't they? It is their duty just as much as
it is Viola's duty to offer herself. That is where I lose patience
with you men of science. Why _don't_ you meet these people half-way?
Women wouldn't be such bigots--such cowards. If you don't help this
poor girl I'll consider you a bigot and coward with the rest."

"Your whole position is most feminine," said Morton, arguing as much
against himself as against Kate. "You've only seen this girl once--you
have witnessed only one of her performances, and yet you are ready to
champion her before the world. I wish you'd tell me how you arrived at
a conviction of her honesty. Think of it! She assumes to be the
mouth-piece of the dead. The very assumption is a discredit."

"I don't care; she has good, honest, sweet eyes."

"I bow to the force of the eyes, but over against her claim I put the
denials of science. The phenomena these fanatics base their hopes upon
science has already proven to be tricks, illusions, deceits."

"I don't care, her story, her own attitude towards the thing,
convinced me that she is _honest_."

"It's the rogue who looks like a gentleman who runs the longest race."

"Well," ended Kate, rather helplessly, "see her--see her before you
condemn her."

"But I _have_ seen her--I've spent more days in her company than you
have hours."

Kate looked at him with new interest. "You didn't tell me that before.
You said you'd met her casually."

"She is enormously interesting, but"--his voice changed to earnest
protest--"but, Kate, the thing the girl claims to be is out of key
with all organized human knowledge. It is a survival of the past. It
belongs to a world of dreams and portents. It is of a piece with the
old crone's tales, fortune-telling, palmistry, and all the rest of the
hodge-podge or hocus-pocus which makes up the world of the unlearned.
I've given a great deal of thought to her fate. My heart bleeds for
her, but what can I do? She really needs the care of a great
physician, like Tolman. She should be snatched from her unwholesome
surroundings and s