“I wish my position to be thoroughly analysed, arranged, classified, and directed, and the result handed back to me. Attend to this?”
Thus the ruined financier spoke to his subconscious mentality just as though it were a separate entity which had been employed to do the work.
Confident expectation was, he knew, an important part of the process, and that the degree of success depended upon the degree of his confident expectation. He was not a slave to the subconscious, but its master.
Returning again to his table, he sat for a long time pondering until suddenly the door opened and Elma burst in, bright and radiant in a filmy dance frock of emerald with shoes and stockings to match. In her hair she wore a large golden butterfly, and in her hand she carried her long gloves.
“Do you want to see me, dad?” she asked. “I know I’m rather late, but I’ve had such a topping time. Only one thing spoiled it. That Mr Rutherford was there and pestered me to dance with him.”
Her father was silent for a few seconds. Mention of the name of Rutherford caused him to reflect.
“Yes, dear, I want to see you. Sit down for a moment. I have something to tell you.”
“You look very anxious, dad,” exclaimed the girl. “Why, what’s the matter?”
“A very serious one, my dear—most serious. A heavy blow has fallen upon me. Sir Charles has killed himself!”
“What?” gasped the girl, rising from her chair.