"I am trusting you."
"You may do so."
Pratt came in quite briskly, a heavy-faced, white-bearded man, wearing a sack-suit and an old-fashioned turn-down collar. He greeted Britt with a casual hand-shake, looking at Kate suspiciously. "And who is this?" he asked, bluffly.
"A friend of mine, a Mrs. Rice, who desires to see your wonderful collection of slates and paintings."
Pratt softened a little. "I'll be very glad to show them," he said, "but not now. I'll have to ask you to excuse me just now. I am in consultation with my directors."
"Certainly," said Britt, and, after Pratt went out, he added: "That means that Clarke is going to launch his thunderbolt. He's going to defy the scientific world in the most burning oration since Cicero."
At this moment two ladies, in superb wraps, descended the stairway on their way to their carriages, and one of them said, "I think it's a shame—as long as we've known Simeon Pratt—to be turned away like a tramp!"
"Oh, I don't blame her," said the other.
"Some disappointed callers," said Britt.
A moment later several other curious ones were ushered into the drawing-room. Britt kept up a low-toned comment. "All these rubber-necks are here to see the girl. You will be surprised to know how many there are with a sneaking belief in these revelations."