"It’s not pleasant to say it," he went on; "but you spoke of being distrustful of these mediums your father knows, and my point is that Granthope’s tarred with the same brush. He has worked with them and plotted with them." She was as yet unruffled; the spell of her happiness was still upon her, and she answered mildly. "I can hardly blame you for thinking that, perhaps. I suppose I might myself, if I didn’t know him so well. But I do happen to know something about his life, and I’m sure you’re mistaken. He’s told me a good deal, and I have my own intuitions besides." Cayley was as serene. "Do your intuitions tell you, for instance, that he has a definite understanding with these mediums—in regard to you?" "No, they do not!" she answered calmly, looking him fair in the face. "It’s true, nevertheless." Cayley, with sharp eyes, noted her flush. Her eyes were well schooled, but her quivering mouth betrayed her trouble. She took up her book as if to dismiss the subject. Cayley watched her with impassive eyes. "You may be his friend, as you say, but there are a lot of things about Granthope that you don’t know yet." "No doubt," she replied without looking up. "And there are things which you ought to know." She looked at him now, to say: "Do you fancy that you are helping your own chances any by attacking him?" "Will it help his chances any if you find that he has given away particular facts that he’s discovered about you and your father?" She had begun to be aroused, now, and she showed fight. "I don’t believe it!" Still unperturbed, he went on in his mechanically precise way. "I’ve made it my business to find out about Granthope, Cly. It shouldn’t surprise you—you know I’m in earnest about wanting you. I’m as earnest, too, in wanting to protect you. I don’t propose to hold my tongue when I find that you’re trusting in a man that’s knifing you behind your back." Her voice rang with pride and scorn as she rose, saying, "I don’t care to discuss the matter further, Blanchard." "Not when I say that I have seen notes in Granthope’s own handwriting that were given to a medium as a part of a deliberate scheme? These notes were on definite things he had learned, I’m sure, from his conversations with you. Some of them are personal matters that I’m sure you wouldn’t at all care to have made public. You could easily prove it if you saw them." She had lost courage again, and hesitated, staring at him. Then she said, freezing, "Let me see them, then. If you’re determined to have a scene, you may as well follow the rules of melodrama." "I can’t show them, because this medium wouldn’t let them out of his possession. But I can get him to let you see them, if you like." "You say they are about things we—that I talked about?" "Yes." "Things—about—_me_?" "Yes. I forget all of them. I had only a moment’s glance." For some moments she stood silent. Then she spoke swiftly. "I don’t believe it. He couldn’t do such a thing!"