n with such generous tone
that the other women recoiled. Then she spoke, huskily. "You know--San
Remo--Sands," came brokenly from her lips.
"Sands?" queried the painter; "who is Sands?"
"Sands--San Remo--boats."
The painter was puzzled. "I don't remember any Sands at San Remo. It
must be some student I knew in Paris. Is that what you mean?"
Mrs. Harris violently nodded. As abruptly as it came, this action left
her, and then slowly, imperceptibly, her expression changed, a look of
ineffable maternal sweetness came into her face; she seemed to cradle a
tiny babe upon her arm. At last she sighed, "Oh, the pity of it, the
pity of it!"
For a minute we sat in silence, so compelling were her gestures and her
tone. At last I asked, "Has any one here lost a little child?"
Mrs. Cameron spoke, hesitatingly, "Yes--I lost a little baby--years
ago."
"She is addressing you--perhaps."
Mrs. Harris did not respond to this suggestion, but changed into an
impersonation of a rollicking girl of rather common fibre. "Hello,
Sally!" she cried out, and Mrs. Cameron stared at her in blank dismay as
she asked, "Are you talking to me?"
"You bet I am, you old bag o' wool. Remember Geny? Remember the night on
the door-step? Ooo! but it was cold! _You_ were to blame."
"What is she talking about?" I asked, seeing that Mrs. Cameron was
reluctant to answer this challenge.
"She seems to be impersonating an old class-mate of mine at college--"
"That's what!" broke in the voice.
Mrs. Cameron went on, "Her name was Eugenia Hull--"
"Is yet," laughed the voice. "Same old sport. Couldn't find any man
good enough. You didn't like me, but no matter; I want to tell you that
you're in danger of fire. Don't play with fire. Be careful of fire--"
Again a calm blankness fell upon the psychic's delicate and sensitive
face, and the hand once more slowly closed upon the pencil.
"My father again!" exclaimed Mrs. Cameron. "How could Dolly have known
that he held his pen in just that way? She never saw him."
"Do not place too much value on such performances," I cautioned. "She
has probably heard you describe it. Or she might have taken it out of
your subconscious mind."
The pencil dropped. The hand lifted. The form of the sleeper expanded
with power. Her face took on benignity and lofty serenity. She rose
slowly, impressively, and with her hand upraised in a peculiar gesture,
laid a blessing upon the head of her hostess. There was so
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