comfortable; she did not quite know why: it was too
ridiculous, she told, herself, that a sensible boy like Laurie could
be seriously affected by what she considered the wicked nonsense of
Spiritualism.

Yet she went, telling herself that Laurie's grief was an excuse for
showing him a little marked friendliness. Besides, she would like to
ask him whether he was really going back to town on Thursday.

She tapped twice before an answer came; and then it seemed a rather
breathless voice which spoke.

The boy was sitting bolt upright on the edge of the sofa, with a
couple of candles at his side, and the book in his hands. There was a
strained and intensely interested look in his eyes.

"May I come in for a few minutes? It's nearly dressing time," she
said.

"Oh--er--certainly."

He got up, rather stiffly, still keeping his place in the book with
one finger, while she sat down. Then he too sat again, and there was
silence for a moment.

"Why, you're not smoking," she said.

"I forgot. I will now, if you don't mind!"

She saw his fingers tremble a little as he put out his hand to a box
of cigarettes at his side. But he put the book down, after looking at
the page.

She could keep her question in no longer.

"What do you think of that," she said, nodding at the book.

He filled his lungs with smoke and exhaled again slowly.

"I think it's extraordinary," he said shortly.

"In what way?"

Again he paused before answering. Then he answered deliberately.

"If human evidence is worth anything, those things happen," he said.

"What things?"

"The dead return."

Maggie looked at him, aware of his deliberate attempt at dramatic
brevity. He was watching the end of his cigarette with elaborate
attention, and his face had that white, rather determined look that
she had seen on it once or twice before, in the presence of a domestic
crisis.

"Do you really mean you believe that?" she said, with a touch of
careful bitterness in her voice.

"I do," he said, "or else--"

"Well?"

"Or else human evidence is worth nothing at all."

Maggie understood him perfectly; but she realized that this was not an
occasion to force issues. She still put the tone of faint irony into
her voice.

"You really believe that Cardinal Newman comes to Mr. Vincent's
drawing room and raps on tables?"

"I really believe that it is possible to get into touch with those
whom we call dead. Each instance, of course, depends on its own