With Miss Wabash the vol-au-vent of talk seemed the most natural thing; and Flint dashed at once into a jesting, somewhat daring tone, which she took quite in good part, and when her attention was claimed by the bald-headed broker on the other side, his neighbor on the left, a double-chinned dowager, with a pearl necklace half hidden in the creases of her neck and a diamond aigrette in her hair, proved no less garrulous if somewhat less sprightly.
She had much to tell of the loss of her diamonds by a burglary last week, and of their recovery through the agency of detectives whose charges were exorbitant. She acquainted Flint [Pg 277] with every detail of the conduct of the family and the servants, the police and the detectives. As she went on, people began to listen, and the talk around the table, which had lagged a little, started up more briskly than before.
"I have noticed," said Winifred to Captain Blathwayt, "that there are two subjects which will make even dull people lively,—burglaries and mind-cure."
"Aw, I don't know much about burglaries,—never had one in the family; but I think a lot about mind-cure and all that sort of thing."
"Confirmation of my theory!" said Winifred, with an impertinence which felt safe in banking on the lack of perception in the person whose dignity was assailed.
"Do you believe in the mind-cure?" asked Miss Wabash, who had caught the phrase across the table.
"It depends on the mind," Flint answered.
"Oh, no, it doesn't; not at all. That's the first principle of the science. You only need to resign yourself and let the influence flow over you."
"Does it make any difference whose influence it is?"
"Oh, I suppose so. It must be trained influence, and it seems to work better when it is paid for."