Then, perceiving that she had left his feelings out of consideration—­noticing by the droop of his eyes how much she had depressed him—­she patted his knee and let a tender smile flutter over her dimples.

“Of course, Boy,” she said, with the sweet patronage of woman, “I don’t take no stock in the notion that the girl has got to put aside earthly love, and that kind of talk.  We’ve all got our notions and our places—­where we don’t follow the spirit guides.  Perhaps that’s just Mrs. Markham’s weak spot.  Maybe her own love affairs was ashes in her mouth.  Come to think of it, I never did know who Mr. Markham was.  What I’m tryin’ to tell you is that you’ve got your pig by the wrong ear, for you can’t expose what’s genuine.  And I’m ashamed of what I’m doin’, and if I hadn’t promised to stay a month, I’d leave this very day.”  Her companion made an involuntary motion of alarm.

“Don’t be afraid—­I’m not goin’ to yet.  Gettin’ the place was easy.  You want a housekeeper stupid and respectable; I was all that.  I was bothered, before I got started, to get the letters of recommendation, but I got ’em—­never mind how.  And they were good, too.  I’m Mrs. Granger, as I told you, and I’m a widow.  So I took the place away from a Swede, an Irishwoman, and a French ginny.  Right at the start, I found a line on Mrs. Markham.  When she was alone with me, after we come to terms, she was just as kind and good as any lady in the land.  I don’t suppose that means anythin’ to you, but it did to me.  Big fakirs and crooks just live their lives in terror, afraid of their own shadows.  They’ve got to be sweet and kind on the outside, and so they take out their crossness and irritation on the help.  I’d rather be keeper in an asylum than cook to a burglar.  But Mrs. Markham was fine—­and no airs and no softness.  If the spirit ever hallowed a face, it’s hers.  I know you don’t like her, and you can’t be blamed—­her keeping your little girl from you!  But you must have noticed her voice, how pretty it is if she does talk English fashion.  Now that was my first sight into her.  Whatever she’s done, she’s never done materializin’, which is just where pure, proved fakin’ begins.  It’s as soft as a girl’s.  It wouldn’t be if she’d worked up her voices for men controls.  I’ve been complimented on my voice myself, but you must have noticed the way it slides down and gits deep every little while.  That’s left to show I did materializin’ in St. Paul; and I’m ashamed of it, too.  My, how I wander around in Robin Hood’s barn!  But I’m full of it.”

“Tell me everything,” he said, “and in your own way.”

“‘You know my profession?’ says Mrs. Markham.

“‘No, Ma’am,’ says I.

“‘I’m a religious teacher, in a way,’ says she.  ’A medium if you care to call it that.  I prefer another name.’

“‘A medium!’ says I.  ‘My!  I was to a medium last week!’