Granthope cursed his indiscretion. Must she find this out, too? Was no part of his life, past or present, safe from her? If so, he might as well give her up now. It seemed impossible to conceal anything from her clear vision. But he still strove to put her off. "Oh, these people were weak and ignorant—we haven’t all the same advantages or the same sensitiveness to honor and truth. They were used to this sort of thing, hardened to it, and perhaps unconscious of their baseness by a constant association with such deceptions." "But didn’t Mr. Bennett have any friends to warn him—to show these people up in their true light?" "Oh, that was no use. It was tried, yes; that is, he was shown his carriage, for instance, after it was sold, but he refused to believe it was the same one. He confessed that it was just like it, but he knew that his was then on the planet Jupiter. I don’t think the mediums themselves could have convinced him." "Think of it! It makes their swindling even worse. If he had doubted, if he had tried to trap them, it wouldn’t be quite so bad, it would have been a battle of brains—but to impose on such credulity, to make a living by it—oh, it’s unthinkable!" "Well, after all, they made him happy. In a way, they were telling him only pleasant lies, as a parent might tell a child about Santa Claus and the fairies." He could not keep it up much longer. It was too perilous; and he played for her sympathy. "After all, I suppose my business is about as undignified." "But it’s really a science, isn’t it? Mr. Cayley gave me to understand that you had a convincing theory to explain all personal physical characteristics." "There’s a little more to palmistry than that, I think—an instinctive feeling for character." "Of course. You must have felt my personality intuitively, or you would never have been able to get it so well. But it was most extraordinary of all, I think, the way you got my name. How do you account for that?" He felt the net closing about him. "Oh, I’m sometimes clairaudient." She took it up with animation. "Are you? I must try to send you a message!" "Haven’t you?" he said, still attempting to keep the talk less serious. "All day I have heard you saying, ’You must learn.’ But learn what?" "It seems so queer to me that you shouldn’t know, yourself." "Then tell me. Explain." "No, you’ll find out, I think." He waited a while, for a twinge of pain gave him all he could do to control himself. Somehow it sobered him. "I wish I dared to be friends with you." She gave him her hand simply and he returned its cordial pressure. He was sincere enough, now. He was not afraid of mere generalities. "I’m not worthy of your friendship," he said. "I’d hate to have you know how little I am worth it. If you knew how I have lived—what few chances I have had to know any one really worth while. I’ve never yet had a friend who was able to understand me."