“Oh, like the demon of Socrates.”
“I hope it isn’t a demon!” said Mrs. Denton.
“That depends upon what it tells him to do,” said Ray. “In Socrates’ day a familiar spirit could be a demon without being at all bad. How proud you must be to have a thing like that in the family!”
“I don’t know. It has its inconveniences, sometimes. When it tells him to do what we don’t want him to,” said Mrs. Denton.
“Oh, but think of the compensations!” Ray urged. “Why, it’s equal to a ghost.”
“I suppose it is a kind of ghost,” said Mrs. Denton, and Ray fancied she had the pride we all feel in any alliance, direct or indirect, with the supernatural. “Do you believe in dreams?” she asked abruptly.
“Bad ones, I do,” said Ray. “We always expect bad dreams and dark presentiments to come true, don’t we!”
“I don’t know. My husband does. He has a Dream as well as a Voice.”
“Oh, indeed!” said Ray; and he added: “I see. The Voice is the one he talks with in his sleep.”
The flippant suggestion amused Mrs. Denton; but a shadow of pain came over Peace’s face, that made Ray wish to get away from the mystery he had touched; she might be a believer in it, or ashamed of it.