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 in these days--anyone, at least, possessing common sense--and
common sense was written all over that old bearded face--could believe
such fantastic rubbish as that which had been lately discussed. It
was not only the particular points that regarded Laurie Baxter--all
these absurd, though disquieting hints about insanity and suicide and
the rest of it--but the principles that old Cathcart declared to be
beneath--those principles which he had, apparently, not confided to
Miss Deronnais. Here was the twentieth century; here was an electric
railway, padded seats, and the _Pall Mall_...! Was further comment
required?

The train began to slow up at Gloucester Road; and old Cathcart
gathered up his umbrella and gloves.

"Then tomorrow," he said, "at the same time?"

Mr. Morton made a resigned gesture.

"But why don't you go and have it out with him yourself?" he asked.

"He would not listen to me--less than ever now. Good night!"

* * * * *

The train slid on again into the darkness; and the lawyer sat for a
moment with pursed lips. Yes, of course the boy was overwrought:
anyone could see that: he had stammered a little--a sure sign. But why
make all this fuss? A week in the country would set him right.

Then he opened the _Pall Mall_ again resolutely.

_Chapter XV_

I

Mr. and Mrs. Nugent were enjoying their holiday exceedingly. On Good
Friday they had driven laboriously in a waggonette to Royston, where
they had visited the hermit's cave in company with other grandees of
their village, and held a stately picnic on the downs. They had
returned, the gentlemen of the party slightly flushed with brandy and
water from the various hostelries on the home journey, and the ladies
severe, with watercress on their laps. Accordingly, on the Saturday,