She sat back easily, pushing her draperies straight. She was in some fine silk that fell straight from her high slender waist to her copper-colored shoes.
"Listen, Mr. Baxter. Tomorrow there is coming to this house certainly the greatest medium in London, if not in Europe. (Of course we cannot compete with the East. We are only children beside them.) Well, this man, Mr. Vincent—I think I spoke of him to you last week—he is coming here just for a talk to one or two friends. There shall be no difficulty if you wish it. I will speak to Lady Laura before you go."
Laurie looked at her without moving.
"I shall be very much obliged," he said. "You will remember that I am not yet in the least convinced? I only want to know."
"That is exactly the right attitude. That is all we have any right to ask. We do not ask for blind faith, Mr. Baxter—only for believing after having seen."
Laurie nodded slowly.
"That seems to me reasonable," he said.
There was silence for a moment. Then she determined on a bold stroke.
"There is someone in particular—Mr. Baxter—forgive me for asking—someone who has passed over—?"
She sank her voice to what she had been informed was a sympathetic tone, and was scarcely prepared for the sudden tightening of that face.