something else to which Mrs. Stapleton and a few friends had the key.

Mrs. Baxter made more than one attempt to get back to more mundane
subjects, but it was useless. When even the weather serves as a
symbol, the plain man is done for.

Then Laurie came in.

He looked very self-contained and rather pinched this morning, and
shook hands with the lady without a word. Then they moved across
presently to the green-hung dining-room across the hall, and the
exquisite symbol of Luncheon made its appearance.

Lady Laura, it appeared, was one of those who had felt the charm of
Stantons; only for her it was psychical rather than physical, and all
this was passed on by her friend. It seemed that the psychical
atmosphere of most modern houses was of a yellow tint, but that this
one emanated a brown-gold radiance which was very peculiar and
exceptional. Indeed, it was this singularity that had caused Mrs.
Stapleton to apply for an invitation to the house. More than once
during lunch, in a pause of the conversation, Maggie saw her throw
back her head slightly as if to appreciate some odor or color not
experienced by coarser-nerved persons. Once, indeed, she actually put
this into words.

"Dear Laura was quite right," cried the lady; "there is something very
unique about this place. How fortunate you are, dear Mrs. Baxter!"

"My dear husband's grandfather bought the place," observed the
mistress plaintively. "We have always found it very soothing and
pleasant."

"How right you are! And--and have you had any experiences here?"
Mrs. Baxter eyed her in alarm. Maggie had an irrepressible burst of
internal laughter, which, however, gave no hint of its presence in her
steady features. She glanced at Laurie, who was eating mutton with a
depressed air.

"I was talking to Mr. Vincent, the great spiritualist," went on the
other vivaciously, "only last week. You have heard of him, Mrs.
Baxter? I was suggesting to him that any place where great emotions
have been felt is colored and stained by them as objectively as old
walls are weather-beaten. I had such an interesting conversation, too,
with Cardinal Newman on the subject"--she smiled brilliantly at
Maggie, as if to reassure her of her own orthodoxy--"scarcely six
weeks ago."

There was a pregnant silence. Mrs. Baxter's fork sank to her plate.

"I don't understand," she said faintly. "Cardinal Newman--surely--"

"Why yes," said the other gently. "I know it sounds very startling