‘Eustasia!’ he repeated.
This time her lips moved, and a voice, that seemed shriller and clearer than her own, replied:—
‘Eustasia is not here. I am Sira.’
‘Who is Sira?’
‘A spirit of the third magnitude, from the region of the moon.’
A titter ran round the company, and Sir James Beaton essayed a feeble joke.
‘A lunar spirit—we shall not, I hope, be de lunatico inquirendo.’
‘Hush, sir!’ cried the Professor; then he continued, addressing the medium his sister, ‘Let me know if the conditions are perfect or imperfect?’
‘I cannot tell,’ was the reply.
‘Do you see anything, Sira?’