Winthrop bent his head suddenly, and lifting the hand, kissed it; and then, without again speaking, walked quickly into the hall and shut the door. In the room the dusk deepened. Through the open windows came the roar of the Sixth Avenue Elevated, the insistent clamor of an electric hansom, the murmur of Broadway at night. The tears had suddenly ceased, but the girl had not moved. At last, slowly, stiffly, she raised her head. Her eyes, filled with wonder, with amazement, were fixed upon her hand. She glanced cautiously about her. Assured she was alone, with her other hand she lifted the one Winthrop had kissed and held it pressed against her lips. The folding doors were thrown open, letting in a flood of light, and Mabel Vance, entering swiftly, knelt at the table and bent her head close to Vera. “That woman’s in the hall,” she whispered, “that niece of Hallowell’s. Paul and Mannie can’t get rid of her. Now she’s got hold of Winthrop. She says she will see you. Be careful!” Vera rose. That Mabel might not see she had been weeping, she walked to the piano, covertly drying her eyes. “What,” she asked dully, “does she want with me?” “About tonight,” answered Mabel. She exclaimed fiercely, “I told them there’d be trouble!” With Vance upon her heels, Helen Coates came in quickly from the hall. Her face was flushed, her eyes lit with indignation and excitement. In her hand she held an open letter. As though to protect Vera, both Vance and his wife moved between her and their visitor, but, disregarding them, Miss Coates at once singled out the girl as her opponent. “You are the young woman they call Vera, I believe,” she said. “I have a note here from Mr. Hallowell telling me you are giving a seance tonight at his house. That you propose to exhibit the spirit of my mother. That is an insult to the memory of my mother and to me. And I warn you, if you attempt such a thing, I will prevent it.” There was a pause. When Vera spoke it was in the tone of every-day politeness. Her voice was even and steady. “You have been misinformed,” she said, “there will be no seance tonight.” Vance turned to Vera, and, in a voice lower than her own, but sufficiently loud to include Miss Coates, said: “I don’t think we told you that Mr. Hallowell himself insists that this lady and her friends be present.” “Her presence makes no difference,” said Vera quietly. “There will be no seance tonight. I will tell you about it later, Paul,” she added. She started toward the door, but Miss Coates moved as though to intercept her. “If you think,” she cried eagerly, “you can give a seance to Mr. Hallowell without my knowing it, you are mistaken.” Vera paused, and made a slight inclination of her head. “That was not my idea,” she said. She looked appealingly to Vance. “Is that not enough, Paul?” she asked. “Quite enough!” exclaimed the man. He turned to the visitor and made a curt movement of the hand toward the open door.