“Then your visible soul is concealed by a body of flesh, and clothes, of fabric, or, at least, apparently so. The soul, I take it, would show but low visibility.”
“Good, Hardwick!” cried Mr. Bruce. “Give them a jolt, they need it,—talking such rubbish!”
“Rubbish, Bruce? What do you mean by rubbish?”
“Why, all this ghost gabble——”
“How do you know it’s rubbish? Have you personally disproved it? Do you mean intentional rubbish? Are they talking deceptively, or are they themselves deceived?”
“By the Lord Harry, Hardwick, I had forgotten you were such a stickler for words! I must choose my diction carefully. Do you, then, believe that so-called supernatural appearances are caused by psychical influences or are hallucinations of the senses? There, I think I’ve put it clearly.”
“Fairly so. But I can’t answer clearly. I never express an opinion on a grave question——”
Milly’s hand flew up to her mouth to repress an involuntary giggle. “A grave question!” she exploded. “It surely is.”
The Professor looked at her thoughtfully. “It is,” he went on, “and it is no laughing matter. As I was saying, I never state an opinion without being sure of my facts. Now, I’ve had no experience, personally, with supernatural matters, and so am unfit to discuss them. But, I admit I should be very glad to have some such experience. Yes, I certainly should.”
“Really,” and Eve Carnforth looked interested. “I can arrange it for you, Professor Hardwick.”