“They seldom speak the first time they come,” said Mrs. Linden, whose rather blasé, businesslike air was in contrast to the intense emotion of the company. “I’m afraid she can’t hold together long. Ah, there! She has gone!” The figure had disappeared. There had been some backward movement towards the cabinet, but it seemed to the observers that she sank into the ground before she reached it. At any rate, she was gone. “Gramophone, please!” said Mrs. Linden. Everyone relaxed and sat back with a sigh. The gramophone struck up a lively air. Suddenly the curtains parted, and a second figure appeared. It was a young girl, with flowing hair down her back. She came forward swiftly and with perfect assurance to the centre of the circle. Mrs. Linden laughed in a satisfied way. “Now you will get something good,” she said. “Here is Lucille.” “Good evening, Lucille!” cried the Duchess. “I met you last month, you will remember, when your medium came to Maltraver Towers.” “Yes, yes, lady, I remember you. You have a little boy, Tommy, on our side of life. No, no, not dead, lady! We are far more alive than you are. All the fun and frolic are with us!” She spoke in a high, clear voice and perfect English. “Shall I show you what we do over here?” She began a graceful, gliding dance, while she whistled as melodiously as a bird. “Poor Susan could not do that. Susan has had no practice. Lucille knows how to use a built-up body.” “Do you remember me, Lucille?” asked Mailey. “I remember you, Mr. Mailey. Big man with yellow beard.” For the second time in her life Enid had to pinch herself hard to satisfy herself that she was not dreaming. Was this graceful creature, who had now sat down in the centre of the circle, a real materialisation of ectoplasm, used for the moment as a machine for expression by a soul that had passed, or was it an illusion of the senses, or was it a fraud? There were the three possibilities. An illusion was absurd when all had the same impression. Was it fraud? But this was certainly not the little old woman. She was inches taller and fair, not dark. And the cabinet was fraud-proof. It had been meticulously examined. Then it was true. But if it were true, what a vista of possibilities opened out. Was it not far the greatest matter which could claim the attention of the world! Meanwhile, Lucille had been so natural and the situation was so normal that even the most nervous had relaxed. The girl answered most cheerfully to every question, and they rained upon her from every side. “Where did you live, Lucille?” “Perhaps I had better answer that,” interposed Mrs. Linden. “It will save the power. Lucille was bred in South Dakota in the United States, and passed over at the age of fourteen. We have verified some of her statements.” “Are you glad you died, Lucille?” “Glad for my own sake. Sorry for mother.” “Has your mother seen you since?” “Poor mother is a shut box. Lucille cannot open the lid.” “Are you happy?”