I have mentioned more than once, I believe, the sub-irritant effect Mrs. Belvoir has upon me; her hazy personality, taken with the odd remarks she lets fall, hint at something I can’t quite define, but would like to very much.
When Aire went through the armoury door, only four of us were left in the library: Mrs. Belvoir, Alberta, Crofts, and I (in the seclusion of the tower). Mrs. Belvoir watched the Doctor’s departure, then turned to Crofts with the promptitude of one who has at last the opportunity she has been waiting for.
“I do hope you won’t mind to-night,” she said.
It would not have been surprising if Crofts had failed to extract a meaning from this wish, but he seemed to grasp it. His cheek remained at the same full flush it had reached during the Aire controversy, while he turned his eyes slowly toward Mrs. Belvoir, and I thought that the lady had not chosen the likeliest time for wooing his good graces.
“You don’t mean to say—” he rumbled.
“But dear Alberta doesn’t mind—do you?” she asked in sudden appeal that was answered with ardour rather less than half its own.
“I didn’t think it could do any harm,” said Alberta, divided between a reassuring smile at her guest and a warning frown at her husband. “Probably the Scotland Yard man—”
“But it’s for him I especially want to give a demonstration,” declared Mrs. Belvoir with emphatic faintness. “I can help him so much. I think that perhaps the real difficulty we have had all along is that we have not looked beyond the visible. I do so wish Sir Brooke were here; he was so sympathetic. There were always such things of real value learned when he was present.”
“I have it!” I exclaimed from my obscurity, striking my thigh. “Mrs. Belvoir, you are a spiritualistic medium!”
They all regarded me with amazement bold on their faces, and I turned my blatancy into apologetic curiosity. “Sorry, but I didn’t know before, you see. How frightfully interesting. I hope you do give us a séance to-night, Mrs. Belvoir.”