"It is as bad as you can imagine. That man Clarke has some kind of baneful influence over her. He seems able to control her by just waving his hand at her. And the mother is such a dear old silly—she trusts to him completely. But go and dress and we will talk it all over. I'm all of a-tremble yet with what I've seen. I feel as if I had been to an insane asylum and witnessed a strangling."
He went away to his room, deeply perturbed, resentful of all this ill-regulated human nature which could so upset his sane sister and come between his own mind and his work. He believed in orderly and humorous human life. Why should this teasing, tormenting girl from the mountains come with her trances and tricks to make life furious and antic where it had been amusing and accountable? To what would a closer acquaintance lead? What would become of his studies if he gave himself to her case? "To disillusionment, I sincerely hope," he said.
As he joined his sister at dinner, he began, "Well, now, sis, I'll listen."
Kate had lost a little of her excitement under the influence of her toilet-table, but she was still tense and flushed, as she hesitated, her heart overflowing with sisterly admiration, so handsome, so strong, and so very established did Morton appear at the moment. His tone still further calmed and reassured her, and she began:
"In the first place, I like the girl very much; she is very pretty and much more au fait than you had led me to suppose. Her manner is extremely good. The mother is dear and sweet, but deluded. Clarke and that old man Pratt ought to be in an asylum—or the calaboose."
Morton laughed harshly. "Your succinct statement puts me in complete possession of the case. They're all fakirs together."
"No, I didn't mean that. They're all fanatics. You should see the spirit-paintings and the slate-writings in that house! It was like a journey to a far country. Really, Morton, it staggers belief to think that within twenty blocks of where we sit such a man and such a home can exist. They do exist, and it only makes me realize how small a part of the city we know, after all. And some things I heard there to-day make me wonder if science isn't shutting its eyes—as these people say—to a world right under its nose. Morton, those people believe what they talk. That girl is honest; she may be self-deceived, but her sufferings are real. I can't believe that she is wicked."
"Weissmann practically advised me to go into a study of these morbid conditions."
"He did? Well, that from Rudolph Weissmann, after what I've seen to-day, unsettles my reason. Maybe those people really have a message. But, Morton, you really must do something for that girl. Her condition is pitiful. One of the plans of that lunatic Clarke is to issue a challenge to the world of science and to throw that girl into the arena for you scientists to tear."
Morton started—stared. "No! Not a public challenge."