Karl von Steinberg thought the same, as he lay back in his arm-chair, and listened to this conversation. Another man might have sprung up in a rage, and challenged the two gossips to prove what they asserted, but his was a phlegmatic temperament, which thought more than it said, and did more than it threatened. The day was over, when either Major Maitland or his wife would gain admittance to the house in Portland Place, but he did not tell them so. On the contrary, he waited patiently until the two friends had adjourned to the billiard room, before he left his hiding-place, and hailing a cab, drove to his home. His reflections on the way were not pleasant ones. Hannah, then, had deceived him! Whilst she had been denouncing Spiritualism, and declaring it was sinful and she would never have anything more to do with it, she had been giving séances to strangers, which she denied to himself. He had no idea why this should be so, but he determined it should be so no more. He would demand to participate in that which she showered lavishly upon her acquaintances. Before he reached his house, he had determined on his action. The séance would have commenced, doubtless, and the boudoir door would be locked. But he had a second key to the bedroom, which opened from the boudoir, and he could let himself into the house with his latchkey, without anyone being the wiser for it. He used the greatest caution as he did so, and crept upstairs without meeting anyone on the way. As he entered the bedroom and turned the key behind him, he heard that the séance in the next apartment, which was in total darkness, had already commenced. Murmurings of low voices--sundry questions from the sitters--and occasionally a half-stifled sob--told him that his anticipations were correct. Cautiously approaching the intervening door, which was ajar, Von Steinberg joined the circle, without his entrance being perceived by any one. One lady asked another if she had moved from her seat, and being answered in the negative, declared that the spirits must be walking about the room, but no further notice was taken of his arrival. He stood aloof from the company, and observed all that was taking place. Hannah had evidently had regular preparations made for this assembly, for a proper cabinet was erected in one corner, and the windows were covered with some black material to exclude every ray of light. “How unkind to take all this trouble for mere strangers, and to refuse my making one of the party,” thought Karl von Steinberg, sadly, as he stood quietly in his corner. “How could my seeing dear old Ricardo again, do her any harm? If _she_ did not love him, she knows that _I_ did! This is the worst proof that Hannah has ever given me, of her ingratitude for all I have done for her.”