He spoke rather dryly.

"Well, that's all right, then," said Faull. Flicking his cigar into
the fire, he got up and helped himself to whisky.

"Will you come and see the room?"

"Thank you, no. I prefer to have nothing to do with it till the time
arrives."

"Then let's go to see my sister, Mrs. Jameson, who is in the drawing
room. She sometimes does me the kindness to act as my hostess, as I
am unmarried."

"I will be delighted," said Backhouse coldly.

They found the lady alone, sitting by the open pianoforte in a
pensive attitude. She had been playing Scriabin and was overcome.
The medium took in her small, tight, patrician features and porcelain-
like hands, and wondered how Faull came by such a sister. She
received him bravely, with just a shade of quiet emotion. He was
used to such receptions at the hands of the sex, and knew well how to
respond to them.

"What amazes me," she half whispered, after ten minutes of graceful,
hollow conversation, "is, if you must know it, not so much the
manifestation itself--though that will surely be wonderful--as your
assurance that it will take place. Tell me the grounds of your
confidence."