‘As a matter of fact, Mrs Lovat, there are seven. But I think in this case Mrs Lawford intends to suggest not so much that—that her husband is in that condition; habitual sin, you know—grave enough, of course, I own—but that he is actually being compelled, even to the extent of a more or less complete change of physiognomy, to follow the biddings of some atrocious spiritual influence. It is no breach of confidence to say that I have myself been present at a death-bed where the struggle against what I may call the end was perfectly awful to witness. I don’t profess to follow all the ramifications of the affair, but though possibly Mr Danton may seem a little harsh, such harshness, if I may venture to intercede, is not necessarily “vindictive.” And—and personal security is a consideration.’ ‘If you only knew the awful fear, the awful uncertainty I have been in, Bettie! Oh, it is worse, infinitely worse, than you can possibly imagine. I have myself heard the Voice speak out of him—a high, hard, nasal voice. I’ve seen what Mr Danton calls the “glassiness” come into his face, and an expression so wild and so appallingly depraved, as it were, that I have had to hurry downstairs to hide myself from the thought. I’m willing to sacrifice everything for my own husband and for Alice; but can it be expected of me to go on harbouring....’ Lawford listened on in vain for a moment; poor Sheila, it seemed, had all but broken down. ‘Look here, Mrs Lawford,’ began Danton huskily, ‘you really mustn’t give way; you really mustn’t. It’s awful, unspeakably awful, I admit. But here we are; friends, in the midst of friends. And there’s absolutely nothing—What’s that? Eh? Who is it?... Oh, the maid!’ Ada stood in the doorway looking in. ‘All I’ve come to ask, ma’am,’ she said in a low voice, ‘is, am I to stay downstairs any longer? And are you aware there’s somebody in the house?’ ‘What’s that? What’s that you’re saying?’ broke out the husky voice again. ‘Control yourself! Speak gently! What’s that?’ ‘Begging your pardon, sir, I’m perfectly under control. And all I say is that I can’t stay any longer alone downstairs there. There’s somebody in the house.’ A concentrated hush seemed to have fallen on the little assembly. ‘“Somebody”—but who?’ said Sheila out of the silence. ‘You come up here, Ada, with these idle fancies. Who’s in the house? There has been no knock—no footstep.’ ‘No knock, no footstep, ma’am, that I’ve heard. It’s Dr Ferguson, ma’am. He was here that first night; and he’s been here ever since. He was here when I came on Tuesday; and he was here last night. And he’s here now. I can’t be deceived by my own feelings. It’s not right, it’s not out-spoken to keep me in the dark like this. And if you have no objection, I would like to go home.’