myself to deal only with fact and with proof. Surmise
and fancy have no place in my scheme of thought. Show
me what I can see with my microscope, cut with my
scalpel, weigh in my balance, and I will devote a
lifetime to its investigation. But when you ask me to
study feelings, impressions, suggestions, you ask me to
do what is distasteful and even demoralizing. A
departure from pure reason affects me like an evil
smell or a musical discord.

Which is a very sufficient reason why I am a little
loath to go to Professor Wilson's tonight. Still I
feel that I could hardly get out of the invitation
without positive rudeness; and, now that Mrs. Marden
and Agatha are going, of course I would not if I could.
But I had rather meet them anywhere else. I know that
Wilson would draw me into this nebulous semi-science of
his if he could. In his enthusiasm he is perfectly
impervious to hints or remonstrances. Nothing short of
a positive quarrel will make him realize my aversion to
the whole business. I have no doubt that he has some
new mesmerist or clairvoyant or medium or trickster of
some sort whom he is going to exhibit to us, for even
his entertainments bear upon his hobby. Well, it will
be a treat for Agatha, at any rate. She is interested
in it, as woman usually is in whatever is vague and
mystical and indefinite.

10.50 P. M. This diary-keeping of mine is, I fancy,
the outcome of that scientific habit of mind about