Clarke, who had appeared at the doorway, a worn, and troubled spectre of dismay, now put in a confirmatory word. "You are quite right, Simeon. That house reeks with the talk of wine-bibbers and those who make life a witticism. Such an atmosphere profoundly affects Viola." Pratt glowered at him with keen, contemptuous glance. "You look as if you'd been drawn through a knot-hole. What happened to _you_?" As Clarke did not reply to this he took another line of inquiry. "About this sitting, what was the upshot?" "It was a very remarkable test-sitting, and seemed to make a profound impression. The conditions were severe--" "Why was I left out? That's what I want to know." "That's what puzzles me. McLeod, who promised us never to have a circle without you, insisted on the sitting there--" "How do you know he did? Did he write or speak to you?" "No--he _impressed_ the psychic." "I don't trust that girl in such a house. Did you talk with Weissmann about heading the committee?" "Yes, but"--he hesitated--"they both insisted that if they took the matter up both of us must be excluded." Pratt bristled. "And you consented to that?" "I did not. I insisted that the sittings take place here and that we be present. They would not listen to that, so I think I'll go ahead on my programme and decide upon the personnel of the committee afterwards." Pratt regarded him fixedly. "I'm not sure I like your programme, my friend. I've been thinking it over lately, and I've just about come to the conclusion that you'd better not issue that challenge." "Why not?" Pratt snapped like a peevish bull-dog. "Because I don't want it done--that's all the reason you need. I've never made any concessions to reach these damn scientists, and I don't intend to begin now. You are planning to involve us in a whole lot of noise and sensation, and I don't like it. Furthermore, I don't intend to submit to it." Clarke was too irritable to take this quietly, and his eyes blazed. "You're very sensitive all at once. When did you reach this new point of view?" "Never you mind about that; I've reached it, and I intend to maintain it. Why, you simple-minded jackass, these scientists will eat you up. They'll make a monkey of me and disgrace the girl. They'll pretend to expose her--the press will be on their side--and I will be made the butt of all their slurring gibes. I won't have it!" "You're too nervous about the press," replied Clarke, loftily. "You're all wrong about the papers. They'll take a malicious joy in girding at the scientists as 'the men who know it all.' They'll have their fling at us, of course, but it won't hurt." "Oh, it won't! Well, it may not hurt you--it's a fine stroke of advertising for you--but I don't need that kind of publicity. That's settled! Now, about this man Serviss"--he turned to Mrs. Lambert--"is he married?" "No." "I thought not. How long has he known Viola?"