“A caustic spirit— un peu sauvage . But so witty; Dr. Carver, you do think him witty?”
“I never think of wit,” said Dr. Carver severely.
“Ah—ah—you never think of wit! How merciless he is to us weak mortals, Mr. Archer! But he lives only in the life of the spirit; and tonight he is mentally preparing the lecture he is to deliver presently at Mrs. Blenker’s. Dr. Carver, would there be time, before you start for the Blenkers’ to explain to Mr. Archer your illuminating discovery of the Direct Contact? But no; I see it is nearly nine o’clock, and we have no right to detain you while so many are waiting for your message.”
Dr. Carver looked slightly disappointed at this conclusion, but, having compared his ponderous gold timepiece with Madame Olenska’s little travelling-clock, he reluctantly gathered up his mighty limbs for departure.
“I shall see you later, dear friend?” he suggested to the Marchioness, who replied with a smile: “As soon as Ellen’s carriage comes I will join you; I do hope the lecture won’t have begun.”
Dr. Carver looked thoughtfully at Archer. “Perhaps, if this young gentleman is interested in my experiences, Mrs. Blenker might allow you to bring him with you?”
“Oh, dear friend, if it were possible—I am sure she would be too happy. But I fear my Ellen counts on Mr. Archer herself.”
“That,” said Dr. Carver, “is unfortunate—but here is my card.” He handed it to Archer, who read on it, in Gothic characters:
Agathon Carver The Valley of Love Kittasquattamy, N. Y.
Dr. Carver bowed himself out, and Mrs. Manson, with a sigh that might have been either of regret or relief, again waved Archer to a seat.