"Yes, that's it! You won't laugh at me when I tell you that everything, letters, handkerchiefs, dresses and everything belonging to people have a feeling in them—something that tells secrets? I can't quite explain."
"I have heard very sensitive people express some such idea. It sounds very fascinating. I should like very much to hear about it."
"Would you? You are sure you won't think me queer? My niece, Mary Coombe, does not like me to tell people about it. She has no imagination herself, none at all. She says it is all nonsense. But I think," shrewdly, "that she would like to know some of the things that I know. Won't you come in, Doctor? Come in and sit under the tree where it is cooler."
The doctor's hesitation was but momentary. He was keenly interested. And at the back of his mind was the thought that Esther must certainly be along presently. Fate had not favoured him of late. He had not seen her for five days. It is foolish to leave meetings to fate anyway. Then, if another reason were needed it was probable that if he stayed he would meet Esther's mother. He was beginning to feel quite curious about Mrs. Coombe.
"Thanks. I think I will come in. All the trees in Coombe are cool, but your elm is the coolest of them all. Let me arrange this cushion for you. Is that right?"
He settled Aunt Amy comfortably upon the least sloping portion of the old circular bench and, not wishing to trust it with his own weight, sat down upon the grass at her feet.
"Now," he said cheerfully, "let us have a regular psychic research meeting. Tell me all about it."
"What's that?" suspiciously.
"Psychic research? Oh, just finding out all about the queer things that happen to people."
"Do queer things happen to other people besides me?"