"I don't think—I know," the small seeress went on with calm assurance. "You've been telling us in all sorts of dumb ways that you've had an upsetting shock of some kind; and I don't believe it's another lawsuit. Am I right, so far?"
"I believe you are a witch, and it's a mighty good thing you didn't live in the Salem period," he rejoined. "They would have hanged you to a dead moral certainty."
"Then there was something?" she queried; adding, jubilantly: "I knew it!"
"Go on," said the one to whom it had happened; "go on and tell me the rest of it."
"Oh, that isn't fair; even a professional clairvoyant has to be told the color of her eyes and hair."
"Wha-what!" the ejaculation was fairly jarred out of him and for the moment he fancied he could feel a cool breeze blowing up the back of his neck.
The clairvoyant who did not claim to be a professional was laughing softly.
"You told me once that a woman was adorable in the exact degree in which she could afford to be visibly transparent; yes, you said 'afford,' and I've been holding it against you. Now I'm going to pay you back. You are the transparent one, this time. You have as good as admitted that the 'happening' thing isn't a man; 'wha-what' always means that, you know; so it must be a woman. Is it the Miss Richlander you were telling me about?"
There are times when any mere man may be shocked into telling the simple truth, and Smith had come face to face with one of them. "It is," he said.
"She is in Brewster?"