"I should have thought Lionel would have been glad," said Bubbles, and there came into her voice the touch of slight, almost insolent, contempt with which she generally spoke of Lionel Varick. "He was very far from glad; he was furious," said Blanche gravely. "I only did it because he said he wanted his guests entertained," said Bubbles sulkily. And then, after there had been a rather long silence between them, she asked: "What did _you_ think of it, Blanche? You'd never been at a séance before, had you?" Miss Farrow hesitated. "Of course I was impressed," she acknowledged. "I kept wondering how you did it. I mean that I kept wondering how those people's thoughts were conveyed to your brain." "Then you didn't believe that I saw anything of the things I said I saw?" said Bubbles slowly. "You thought it was all fudge on my part?" Her aunt reddened. "I don't quite know what you mean by saying that. Of course I don't believe you saw the--the figures you described so clearly. But I realized that in some queer way you must have got hold of _the memory_ of your victims. Lionel admits that you did so in his case." "Does he indeed?" Bubbles spoke with sharp sarcasm. There rose before her a vision of her host's pale, startled face. In some ways he had been the most inwardly perturbed of her last night's sitters, and she, the medium, had been well aware of it. "I wonder," she said suddenly and inconsequently, "if Lionel has some enemy--I mean a woman--in his life, of whom his friends know nothing?" Blanche looked dubiously at the girl. "That's the sort of thing one can never know about a man," she said slowly. "The woman I mean"--Bubbles was going on rather quickly and breathlessly now--"is not a young woman. She's about sixty, I should think. She has a plain, powerful face, with a lot of grey hair turned off her forehead." "Have you ever seen such a person with Lionel?" asked Miss Farrow. "No, not exactly." "What _do_ you mean, Bubbles?" "I can't quite explain what I mean. Even before the séance I seemed to _feel_ her last night. I suppose _you_ would say I saw her in his mind--in what some people would call his inner consciousness." Blanche stared at the girl uncomfortably. "D'you mean you can always see what people are thinking of?" she exclaimed. Bubbles burst out laughing. "Of course I can't! You needn't feel nervous." She went up to her aunt, and thrust her hand through the other's arm. "Don't be worried, old thing"--she spoke very affectionately. "I've promised Bill that I'll put everything of the kind he and father disapprove of away--just while I'm here! But still, Blanche--" Miss Farrow had never seen the girl in this serious, thoughtful mood before. "Yes," she said. "Yes, Bubbles?" "Oh, well, I only just wanted to quote something to you that's rather hackneyed." "Hackneyed?" repeated Miss Farrow. "There are more things in heaven and earth, my dear, than are dreamt of in _your_ philosophy."