“Dear things! They often think so, I believe. But really they aren’t. Half the Christian Scientists begin as Spiritualists. And a great many Spiritualists were once Christian Scientists.”
“Which are you?”
“Both, of course.”
“Dear me!”
“As you will be when you’ve got thoroughly into your double life. Well, my greatest friend—in my double life, you understand—is a Mrs. Vane Bridgeman, a Christian Scientist and Spiritualist. She is very rich, and magnificently idiotic. She supports all foolish charities. She has almshouses for broken-down mediums on Sunnington Common in Kent. She has endowed a hospital for sick fortune-tellers. She gave five hundred pounds to the home for indigent thought-readers, and nearly as much to the ‘Palmists’ Seaside Retreat’ at Millaby Bay near Dover. I don’t know how many Christian Science Temples she hasn’t erected, or subscribed liberally to. She turns every table in her house. She won’t leave even one alone. Her early breakfasts for star-gazers are famous, and it’s impossible to dine with her without sitting next to a horoscope-caster, or being taken in—to dinner, of course—by a crystal diviner or a nose-prophet.”
“A nose-prophet! What’s that?”
“A person who tells your fortune by the shape of your nose.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Well, you understand now that there’s no sillier person in London than dear Mrs. Bridgeman?”
“Oh, quite.”