“Well, I wasn’t responsible. I did it under compulsory hypnotism.”
“You owned up to it before, Aunt Abby,” said Eunice, humoring her; “you said—”
“I know, Eunice, but that time it was to shield you. Now, I know for certain that I did do it, and how it came about.”
“Dear Aunt Abby,” and Elliott spoke very gently, “don’t you talk about it any more. Your vagaries are tolerated by us, who love you, but Mr. Stone is bored by them—”
“Not at all,” said Fleming Stone; “on the contrary, I’m deeply interested. Tell me all about it, Miss Ames. Where have you been?”
Thus encouraged, Aunt Abby told all.
She described the séance truthfully, Fibsy’s bright eyes—not lack-luster now—darting glances at her and at Stone as the tale proceeded.
“He was the real thing—wasn’t he, McGuire?” Miss Ames appealed to him, at last.
“You bet! Why, if the side wire of his beard hadn’t fetched loose and if his walnut juice complexion hadn’t stopped a mite short of his collar, I’d a took him for a sure-fire Oriental!”
“Don’t be so impertinent, Terence,” reproved Stone; “Miss Ames knows better than you do.”