“Who in the world is Wah-No-Tee?” Pryde demanded.
“Why, my medium’s Indian control.”
Hugh chuckled—his laugh always was a nice boyish chuckle. Mrs. Leavitt looked shocked—Stephen winked at his cigarette as he lit it. Latham laid down the cigar he had selected but not yet lit.
“Indian control?” Bransby said—quite at a loss.
Helen explained. “Mrs. Hilary is interested in spiritualism, Daddy.”
“Oh!” Bransby was frankly disgusted. Either Angela did not notice this, or was perfectly indifferent.
Stephen was greatly amused. A charming smile lit his sharp face. “Is it permitted to ask what Wah-No-Tee’s communication was, Mrs. Hilary?” he said—almost caressingly.
“She told me——”
“Oh—” interjected Stephen—“Wah-No-Tee is a lady?”
“Oh! Quite. She told me this morning that one of my dearest friends was just ‘passing over.’ I was so worried. I hurried back from town as quickly as I could, and ever since dinner I have been rushing about calling on every dear friend I have”—she gave Latham a soft look. “And, as I said—they are all quite all right. Silly mistake!”