"I know," returned Vera. "I can't!" Her voice was perplexed,
impatient. "Why, I can sit in this chair," she declared
earnestly, "and fill this room with spirit voices and rappings,
and you sitting right there can't see how I do it. And yet,
inspite of all the tricks, sometimes I believe there's something
in it."

She looked at Winthrop, her eyes open with inquiry. He shook his
head.

"Yes," insisted the girl. "When these women come to me for
advice, I don't invent what I say to them. It's as though
something told me what to say. I have never met them before, but
as soon as I pass into the trance state I seem to know all their
troubles. And I seem to be half in this world and half in
another world -- carrying messages between them. Maybe," her
voice had sunk to almost a whisper; she continued as though
speaking to herself, "I only think that. I don't know. I
wonder."

There was a long pause.

"I wish," began Winthrop earnestly, "I wish you were younger, or
I were older."

"Why?" asked Vera.

"Because," said the young man, "I'd like to talk to you -- like
a father."