“But he could n’t,” the ghost said, with pathetic feebleness.
“You do not know the physicians of to-day,” she replied, with a smile. “But to drop that, what I wished to say was this: does it not seem to you that this is a good opportunity to prove your reality by showing me the hiding-place of the diamonds? I give you my word that I will report the case to the Psychical Research Society, and you will then go on record and have a permanent reputation which the incredulity of the age cannot destroy.”
The ghost was by this time in a state of intoxication which evidently made it able only with the utmost difficulty to keep from sailing to the ceiling. It clung to the back of a chair with a desperate clutch, while its feet paddled hopelessly and helplessly in the air, in vain attempts once more to get into touch with the floor.
“But the Psychical Research Society is not recognized in my circle,” it still objected.
“Very well,” Irene exclaimed in exasperation; “do as you like! But what will be the effect upon your reputation if you go floating helplessly back to your circle in your present condition? Is levitation in the presence of ladies considered respectable in this society of whose opinion you think so much?”
“Oh, to think of it!” the spirit of the bygone major wailed with a sudden shrillness of woe which made even Miss Gaspic’s blood run cold. “Oh, the disgrace of it! I will do anything you ask.”
Irene sprang to her feet in sudden excitement.
“Will you show me—” she began; but the wavering voice of the ghost interrupted her.
“You must lead me,” it said. “Give me your hand. I shall float up to the ceiling if I let go my hold upon this chair.”
“Your hand—that is, I—I don’t like the feeling of ghosts,” Irene replied. “Here, take hold of this.”