d for mutual aid in the art of writing. She came to a
sitting some time after it had begun. Mrs Piper, in her normal state,
had never met her. Nevertheless, George Pelham asks her at once, "How is
the society getting on?" A little later on, the following dialogue takes
place between Miss Vance and George Pelham: "Now, whom do you have to
correct your writings?" "We correct one another's." "But do they give
satisfaction?" "Yes." "What, in their corrections?" "Yes, but not as
much as you; your corrections were better than theirs." "Well, that is
what I am trying to get out of you." "In other words, George, you wanted
a compliment from me." "Oh, bosh, you know me better than that."

Miss Warner had two sittings with Mrs Piper[58] five years after George
Pelham's death. He had known her when she was quite a child, but he had
not seen her for three years before he died, and in eight years a child
becomes a tall young girl. Consequently, at the first sitting, George
Pelham did not recognise Miss Warner at all. At the second sitting he
admitted this and said, "I do not think I ever knew you very well."
"Very little. You used to come and see my mother." "I heard of you, I
suppose." "I saw you several times. You used to come with Mr Rogers."
"Yes, I remembered about Mr Rogers when I saw you before." "Yes, you
spoke of him." "Yes, but I cannot seem to place you. I long to place all
my friends, and could do so before I had been gone so long. You see, I
am farther away--every day I get further away from you. I do not recall
your face; you must have changed." At this moment Dr Hodgson said, "Do
you remember Mrs Warner?" "Of course, oh, very well. For pity's sake,
are you her little daughter?" "Yes." "By Jove! how you have grown! I
thought so much of your mother, a charming woman."

George Pelham not only recognises his friends,[59] as we have just seen;
he also remembers their opinions, their occupations, their habits. James
Howard is an author. He asks him, "Why don't you write on this subject?"
(the future life). Rogers writes also. He asks, "What is Rogers writing
now?" "A novel." "I don't mean that. Isn't he writing something about
me?" "Yes, he is preparing a memoir of you." "That is kind of him. One
is pleased not to be forgotten. He was always very good to me when I was
alive."

He remembers the opinions of his father, and the discussions they had
upon philosophical questions. "I should like to convince my father," he
says;