"Bring another bottle when I ring," said Mr. Pratt as the waiter left the room.
The two gentlemen were left alone. Mr. Pownceby still did not feel quite easy in his mind. Champagne generally disagreed with him at any time, always in the morning. He had some glimmerings of an idea that, if he refused to drink, Mr. Pratt would seek in his refusal an occasion to quarrel. He had heard and read of some curious customs in the States; how, for instance, to refuse, under certain circumstances, to drink with a citizen of the Great Republic was to place on him an insult which could only be wiped out by blood--blood in which six-shooters played a part. He half suspected that Mr. Pratt was a citizen like that. Certainly he was unlike any American he had seen. His indifference to his wife's fate was almost brutal. Mr. Pownceby felt this, but he also felt that it was impossible for him to insist on making inquiries if the husband declined to sanction them. Nor was his uneasiness lessened by Mr. Pratt's appearance of entire ease. That gentleman leaned back in his chair--the one his wife had occupied--his summer coat unbuttoned, his hat tilted on to the back of his head.
"So you hypnotised my wife?" Mr. Pownceby smiled faintly; the subject was beginning to be unpleasant. "Hypnotise me."
Mr. Pownceby started.
"I suppose you're joking?"
"Why? My wife had an inquiring mind, why shouldn't I have too? Perhaps you prefer trying those sort of experiments on wives rather than on their husbands."
Mr. Pownceby was not quite sure if this remark was intended disagreeably. It made him wince.
"Perhaps you think I have been trying these experiments all my life. Until this pamphlet was brought by this morning's post I knew no more about hypnotism than you do. My first experiment was tried, at her own urgent request, upon your wife."
"I take after her; I'm fond of experiments too. That book must be a treasure. Oblige me with a glance at it."
Mr. Pownceby handed it to him. Mr. Pratt began reading at the end.