"Yes."
"You are not a fanciful person, perhaps not even a very perceptive one, and certainly Mr. Fuller is neither. Yet both you and he were on edge. I could see it and feel it."
"And hear it too, I imagine, so far as Fuller was concerned," said Sir Julian, not without reason.
"One does not expect very great self-command from a man of his type. But I'm frightened, Julian, I tell you honestly. You know how extraordinarily susceptible I am to the influence of a thought-form?"
"Of a what?" said Sir Julian, having heard her perfectly, but being desirous of venting his own sense of uneasiness in ill-temper.
"Perhaps I used an out-of-the-way expression. But you know what I mean, surely. On another plane—one that is perhaps not so far removed from our own as we sometimes think—these things are classified. I have no psychic gifts myself," said Edna, in a modest way that positively seemed to imply a certain distinction in the absence of those attributes, "but undoubtedly there are those amongst us who can absolutely see and translate into terms of colour and shape for the rest of us."
"I feel sure that the colour and shape of any thought-form belonging to Fuller at the present moment would repay inspection," said Sir Julian grimly.
"Ah, poor Mr. Fuller! It hurt one, didn't it? Prejudice and violence and ignorance—the three foes that we, who can see a little further into the great, wonderful Heart of Life, have to fight against all the time. But sometimes it does feel as though all one's love and pity were being flung back upon oneself again, as though a hard wall of resistance were opposing everything."
Edna gasped a little.
Her husband wondered so much whom she supposed herself to have been loving and pitying that afternoon, that he felt constrained to ask the question aloud.