“Pleased to hear it, I’m sure,” said Mr. Morton solemnly.
“She’s one in a thousand. I told her right out, you know, that I feared insanity.”
“Oh! you did! That’s tactful! How did she—”
“She took it admirably.”
“And did you tell her your delightful theories?”
“I did not. She will see all that for herself, I expect. Meantime—”
“Oh, you didn’t tell me about your interview with Lady Laura.”
The old face grew a little grim.
“Ah! that’s not finished yet,” he said. “I’m on my way to her now. I don’t think she’ll play with the thing again just yet.”
“And the others—the medium, and so on?”
“They will have to take their chance. It’s absolutely useless going to them.”
“They’re as bad as I am, I expect.”
The old man turned a sharp face to him.
“Oh! you know nothing whatever about it,” he said. “You don’t count. But they do know quite enough.”
In the underground the two talked no more; but Mr. Morton, affecting to read his paper, glanced up once or twice at the old shrewd face opposite that stared so steadily out of the window into the roaring darkness. And once more he reflected how astonishing it was that anyone