“Yes, yes,” he said. “I remember now. I used to know Mr. Cathcart once. A very violent old gentleman.”
“What did he mean?”
“His reasons for leaving us? Indeed I scarcely remember. I suppose it was because he became a Catholic.”
“Was there nothing more?”
He looked at her pleasantly.
“Why, I daresay there was. I really can’t remember, Lady Laura. I suppose he had his nerves shaken. You can see for yourself what a fanatic he is.”
But in spite of his presence, once more a gust of anxiety shook her.
“ Mr. Vincent, are you sure it’s safe—for Mr. Baxter, I mean?”
“Safe? Why, he’s as safe as any of us can be. We all have nervous systems, of course.”
“But he’s particularly sensitive, isn’t he?”
“Indeed, yes. That is why even this evening he must not go into trance. That must come later, after a good training.”
She stood up, and came herself to stand by the mantelpiece.
“Then really there’s no danger?”
He turned straight to her, looking at her with kind, smiling eyes.
“Lady Laura,” he said, “have I ever yet told you that there was no danger? I think not. There is always danger, for every one of us, as there is for the