“Or,” she went on, starting a new row of her sock, “shall it be table-turning? Cicely is good at that, too. It always turns for her. Do you remember the fun we’ve had with it, Cicely? The night the Austins dined and it hopped into the corner. And the night it rapped out that rude message to Mr. Foster. I feel a little stupid for bridge.”
“Yes. I remember. He was very much displeased,” said Miss Latimer.
“Comically displeased. He took it all so seriously—though he pretended not to mind. Do you feel like trying it, Cicely? You are the medium, of course. It never did anything without you.”
Miss Latimer did not, for some moments, raise her eyes from the fire. She seemed to deliberate. When she looked up it was to say, “One hardly could, with only three.”
“Why, we were only three when it went so well, with you and me and poor Mr. Foster.”
“I imagine he had power.”
“Well, Bevis may have power. Have you ever sat, Bevis?”
“Once or twice. I’m sure I have no power. And it’s not a game I like.” He felt, as he spoke, that he disliked it very much. So strongly did he dislike it that he wondered at Antonia for her suggestion.
“Why, how solemn you are, Bevis! It’s only a game, as you say. I believe you really are a little scared of it, like Mr. Foster, and think it may rap out something rude. You have a guilty secret, Bevis!”
“Many, no doubt.”