“I do not think,” replied Funkelstein, “that it is of any use to bring testimony to bear on such a matter. I have seen—to use the words of some one else, I forget whom, on a similar subject—I have seen with my own eyes what I certainly should never have believed on the testimony of another. Consequently, I have no right to expect that my testimony should be received. Besides, I do not wish it to be received, although I confess I shrink from presenting it with a certainty of its being rejected. I have no wish to make converts to my opinions.”
“Really, Herr von Funkelstein, at the risk of your considering me importunate, I would beg—”
“Excuse me, Mr. Arnold. The recital of some of the matters to which you refer, would not only be painful to myself, but would be agitating to the ladies present.”
“In that case, I have only to beg your pardon for pressing the matter—I hope no further than to the verge of incivility.”
“In no degree approaching it, I assure you, Mr. Arnold. In proof that I do not think so, I am ready, if you wish it—although I rather dread the possible effects on the nerves of the ladies, especially as this is an old house—to repeat, with the aid of those present, certain experiments which I have sometimes found perhaps only too successful.”
“Oh! I don’t,” said Euphra, faintly.
An expression of the opposite desire followed, however, from the other ladies. Their curiosity seemed to strive with their fears, and to overcome them.
“I hope we shall have nothing to do with it in any other way than merely as spectators?” said Mrs. Elton.
“Nothing more than you please. It is doubtful if you can even be spectators. That remains to be seen.”
“Good gracious!” exclaimed Mrs. Elton.