social dignity. His laugh was echoed back with a weird and hollow
sound, as though a hidden demon of the cave were mocking him, a
demon whose merriment was intense but also horrible. He heard the
unpleasant jeering repetition with a kind of careless admiration.

"That echo would make a fortune in Faust, if it could be persuaded
to back up Mephistopheles with that truly fiendish, 'HA HA!'" he
said, resuming his examination of the name on the door. Then an odd
fancy seized him, and he called loudly--

"Thelma!"

"Thelma!" shouted the echo.

"Is that her name?"

"Her name!" replied the echo.

"I thought so!" And Philip laughed again, while the echo laughed
wildly in answer. "Just the sort of name to suit a Norwegian nymph
or goddess. THELMA is quaint and appropriate, and as far as I can
remember there's no rhyme to it in the English language. THELMA!"
And he lingered on the pronunciation of the strange word with a
curious sensation of pleasure. "There is something mysteriously
suggestive about the sound of it; like a chord of music played
softly in the distance. Now, can I get through this door, I wonder?"

He pushed it gently. It yielded very slightly, and he tried again
and yet again. Finally, he put down the lamp and set his shoulder
against the wooden barrier with all his force. A dull creaking sound