"I wonder," she said suddenly and inconsequently, "if Lionel has some enemy—I mean a woman—in his life, of whom his friends know nothing?"
Blanche looked dubiously at the girl. "That's the sort of thing one can never know about a man," she said slowly.
"The woman I mean"—Bubbles was going on rather quickly and breathlessly now—"is not a young woman. She's about sixty, I should think. She has a plain, powerful face, with a lot of grey hair turned off her forehead."
"Have you ever seen such a person with Lionel?" asked Miss Farrow.
"No, not exactly."
"What do you mean, Bubbles?"
"I can't quite explain what I mean. Even before the séance I seemed to feel her last night. I suppose you would say I saw her in his mind—in what some people would call his inner consciousness."
Blanche stared at the girl uncomfortably. "D'you mean you can always see what people are thinking of?" she exclaimed.
Bubbles burst out laughing. "Of course I can't! You needn't feel nervous." She went up to her aunt, and thrust her hand through the other's arm. "Don't be worried, old thing"—she spoke very affectionately. "I've promised Bill that I'll put everything of the kind he and father disapprove of away—just while I'm here! But still, Blanche—"
Miss Farrow had never seen the girl in this serious, thoughtful mood before. "Yes," she said. "Yes, Bubbles?"