“I--I don’t see why I should,” Harrison replied. “I don’t see the necessity for it. I--I’m not convinced, by any means, of the validity of your examples. At present, I am content to go on with the enquiry without formulating any theory. I contend that the evidence up to the present time is insufficient to theorise upon.” “Ah! well, there’s a lot more coming,” Vernon replied, and for the first time a real note of passion crept into his voice. “Don’t you realise that all these developments taken together are just the first stages of the knowledge that is coming to us? They are symptoms, that’s all, of the new trend in the evolution of mankind; of the coming of the new age--the age of the Spirit. The days of materialism are nearly spent, and the next generation will smile at our feeble tentatives. “Do you ask me how I know? Well, I can’t tell you in terms that you can understand. The best part of my knowledge is intuitional, but intuition, even mysticism, must no longer be divorced from science and intellect. That, I feel, is the essential synthesis of the new doctrine. We are going to produce our material proofs; in the future religion and science will become one.” “My own opinion, precisely,” said Lady Ulrica. But Vernon’s homily had proved a little too much for Harrison. He tried to speak and could not control the pitch of his voice, which soared ineffectively to a falsetto squeak. “Er--er--I--I ...” he began, and had to get to his feet before he could attain coherence. Then he started again with “No, no! It’s incredible nonsense that--the kind of religion foreshadowed by spiritualism--could ever appeal to sensible men and women. Are we to be expected to listen to the drivelling platitudes of some supposed spirit communicating through an illiterate old woman with the further interposition of a ‘control,’ speaking pigeon English and imitating the worst sophistications of a spoilt child? No, no, positively I can’t take that kind of nonsense seriously. I--I have no sort of desire to imitate the credulity of Lodge, Barrett and Crookes--no sort of desire. I--I--it’s absurd. I’ve no patience even to talk about it. Who is coming to look at the moon?” And without waiting to receive any response to his invitation, he turned his back on the cedar and strode out, a perturbed and impatient little figure, into the light of the open garden. The other six followed him in a straggling procession. Emma Harrison was obviously relieved that the discussion was at an end. “I said it would only end in recriminations,” she explained to Greatorex, who looked about seven feet high in contrast with her diminutive slenderness. “Charles never can keep his temper about that subject. And I did think it was very splendid of him to keep it as long as he did. We can’t do with all that nonsense. Can you, Mr. Greatorex?”