PETER.  I hope so.  It’s high time now.

DR. MACPHERSON.  What I want is some positive proof; some absolute test; some—­er—­[Thinks.

CATHERINE has seated herself at the table.—­Unconsciously they both occupy the same seats as in the first act.

PETER.  The trouble is with other people, not with us.  You want us to give all sorts of proofs; and here we are just back for a little while—­very poorly put together on the chance that you’ll see us at all.

DR. MACPHERSON.  Poor old Peter—­bless his heart! [His elbow on the table as though he had been thinking over the matter. CATHERINE sits quietly listening.] If he kept that compact with me, and came back,—­do you know what I’d ask him first?  If our work goes on.

PETER.  Well, now, that’s a regular sticker.  It’s bothered me considerably since I crossed over.

CATHERINE.  What do you mean, Doctor?

DR. MACPHERSON.  The question every man wants the answer to:  what’s to become of me—­me—­my work?  Am I going to be a bone setter in the next life and he a tulip man?...  I wonder.

PETER.  Andrew, I’ve asked everybody—­Tom, Dick and Harry.  One spirit told me that sometimes our work does go on; but he was an awful liar—­you knew we don’t drop our earth habits at once.  He said that a genius is simply a fellow who’s been there before in some other world and knows his business.  Now then:  [Confidentially preparing to open an argument—­ sitting in his old seat at the table, as in the first act.] it stands to reason, Andrew, doesn’t it?  What chance has the beginner compared with a fellow who knew his business before he was born?

DR. MACPHERSON. [Unconsciously grasping the thought.] I believe it is possible to have more than one chance at our work.

PETER.  There ... you caught that....  Why can’t you take my message to Catherine?

DR. MACPHERSON. [Rising to get his shawl—­gruffly.] Thought over what I told you concerning this marriage?  Not too late to back out.

PETER.  He’s beginning to take the message.

CATHERINE.  Everything’s arranged:  I shall be married as Uncle Peter wished.  I sha’n’t change my mind.

DR. MACPHERSON.  H’m! [Picks up his shawl.

PETER. [Trying to detain the DOCTOR—­tugging at his shawl without seeming to pull it.] Don’t give up!  Don’t give up!  A girl can always change her mind—­while there’s life.  Don’t give up! [The DOCTOR turns, facing PETER, looking directly at him as he puts his hand in his coat pocket.] You heard that, eh?...  Didn’t you?  Yes?  Did it cross over?...  What?...  It did?...  You’re looking me in the face, Andrew; can you see me? [The DOCTOR takes a pencil out of his pocket, writes a prescription, throws his shawl over his shoulder—­turning his back towards PETER and facing CATHERINE.] Tc!  Tc!  Tc!