“Very well. Tell Mrs. Owen I will be ready,” he said, then turned with changed manner to poor Seraphine, whose brightening chances were now hopelessly dissipated.
“Suppose we come to the point, Mrs. Walters,” he went on. “I am rather pressed for time and—you say you are a friend of Mrs. Wells? Have you any definite information bearing upon her condition?”
“Oh, yes,” she replied and at once made it clear that she was fully informed as to Penelope's distressing symptoms.
“She is suffering from shell shock,” said the doctor.
“No, no!” the medium disagreed, sweetly but firmly. “Penelope's trouble is due to something quite different and far more serious than shell shock.”
Then earnestly, undaunted by Owen's skeptical glances, Seraphine proceeded to set forth her belief that there is today in the world such a thing as literal possession by evil spirits.
“You mean that as applying to Mrs. Wells?” the doctor asked with a weary lift of the shoulders.
“Yes, I do. I can give you evidence—if you will only listen—”
“My dear lady, I really cannot go into such a—purely speculative field. I must handle Mrs. Wells' case as I understand it with the help of means that I am familiar with.”
“Of course, but, doctor,” she begged, “don't be vexed with me, I am only trying to save this dear child, I love Penelope and—I must say it—you are not making progress. She is going straight on to—to disaster. I know what I am saying.”