Miss Macleod was a woman of the day. Openly expressing unbelief in all the faiths that are old, she was continually on the look-out for a faith that was new. She had tried spiritualism and theosophy. She had sworn by all sorts of rogues and humbugs--until she found them out to be rogues and humbugs, which, to her credit be it said, it did not take her long to do. Just at that moment she was without a fetish. So that when Miss Vesey calmly announced that she was a magician, she did not do what, for instance, that very much more weak-minded person than herself, her nephew, would have done--she did not promptly laugh her to scorn.
"What do you mean by saying you're a magician?" she inquired.
"I mean what I say. I have my magic here."
Miss Vesey laid her hand on the piano.
"I suppose you mean that you're a fine pianist."
"More than that. With my music I can do with men and women what I will. I can drive the desire for drink out of my father for days together; I can make him keep sober against his will."
Miss Macleod turned towards her nephew.
"This is my nephew. Exercise your power upon him."
"Aunt!" cried the Rev. Alan.
Miss Vesey laughed.