Miss Macleod was a woman of the day. Openly expressing unbelief in all the faiths that are old, she was continually on the look-out for a faith that was new. She had tried spiritualism and theosophy. She had sworn by all sorts of rogues and humbugs--until she found them out to be rogues and humbugs, which, to her credit be it said, it did not take her long to do. Just at that moment she was without a fetish. So that when Miss Vesey calmly announced that she was a magician, she did not do what, for instance, that very much more weak-minded person than herself, her nephew, would have done--she did not promptly laugh her to scorn. "What do you mean by saying you're a magician?" she inquired. "I mean what I say. I have my magic here." Miss Vesey laid her hand on the piano. "I suppose you mean that you're a fine pianist." "More than that. With my music I can do with men and women what I will. I can drive the desire for drink out of my father for days together; I can make him keep sober against his will." Miss Macleod turned towards her nephew. "This is my nephew. Exercise your power upon him." "Aunt!" cried the Rev. Alan. Miss Vesey laughed. "Shall I?" she asked. "You have my permission. You say you can do with men and women what you will. He will be a rich man one of these fine days. Make him marry you." The curate's distress was piteous. "Aunt! Have you any sense of shame?" "Suppose I try," observed Miss Vesey, her face alive with laughter. "I'm sure I'm poor enough, and I'm already connected with the clergy." "Aunt, I entreat you, come away. If you will not come, then I must go alone. I cannot stay to see the Church insulted." Miss Macleod turned to Miss Vesey. "Will you let him go?" "Certainly not," laughed the young lady. "If only to pay him out for being so ungallant." The Rev. Alan--literally--wrung his hands. "This--this is intolerable. Aunt, it is impossible for me to stay. You--you'll find me there when you get home." The Rev. Alan, in a state of quite indescribable confusion, turned towards the door. But before he could move a step, Miss Vesey struck a chord on the piano. "Stay!" she said. The curate seemed to hesitate for a moment, then turned to her again. He seemed to be under the impression that he owed an apology to the pianist. "I--I must apologise for--for my seeming rudeness. I know that my--my aunt only meant what she said as--as a joke; but, at the same time, my respect for my sacred office"--at this point the little man drew himself up--"compels me, after what has passed, to go." Miss Vesey struck a second chord. "Stay!" she said again.