"My dear Dick, I am becoming accustomed to the extraordinary inaptness of your scriptural allusions. But this is hardly a _small_ matter between me and Ronnie. I am ready to make every allowance for his illness and loss of memory; but I don't see how I can start life with him at home, until he manages to remember a thing of such vital import in our wedded life. He may be sane on every other point. I cannot consider him sane on this." "Shall I tell him?" suggested Dick. "No, let him remember. He can remember his Infant of Prague; his mind is full of that again. Why should he not be able to remember my baby son?" "Oh, lor!" sighed Dr. Dick. "Why not put that poser to Ronnie direct, instead of putting it to me? Forgive me for saying so, but you are suffering just now from a reaction, after the terrible strain through which you have passed. And Ronnie is wretched too, because he remembers how you let fly at him that evening, and he thinks you really meant it." "I did," said Helen. "Of course, had I known how ill he was, poor old boy, I should have been more patient. But I have a little son to consider now, as well as Ronnie. I _did_ think him selfish, and I _do_." "My dear angel," said Dr. Dick, "we are all selfish, every mother's son of us; and it is you blessed women who make us so." She looked at him, with softening eyes. "_You_ are not selfish, Dick," she said. "I am," he answered; "and a long chalk worse than Ronnie. I combine ambition with my selfishness. I jolly well mean to get to the top of the tree, and I don't care how I get there. I down every one who dares stand in my way; or--I use them as stepping-stones. There! Isn't that a worse Upas tree than poor old Ronnie's? Mine is a life untouched by love, or any gentler feelings. All that sort of thing was killed in me when I was quite a little chap. It is the story of a broken halo. Perhaps I'll tell it you some day. Meanwhile, this being Christmas Eve and not Ash Wednesday, I'll make no more confessions. Don't you want to hear the result of my psychic investigations, concerning our mirror experiences?" "Exceedingly," said Helen. "Have you time to tell me now?" "Heaps of time. It won't take long. Last night I told the whole story to a man who makes a special study of these matters, and knows more about things psychic than any other man in England. The Brands asked me to dinner and arranged to have him also. After dinner he and I went down alone to the doctor's consulting room, and talked the whole thing out. I was careful to mention no names. You don't want to be credited with a haunted room at the Grange, neither do we want Ronnie's name mixed up with psychical phenomena. Now I will give you this man's opinion and explanation, exactly as he gave it to me. Only, remember, I pass it on as his. I do not necessarily endorse it.