Cathcart's mysteries: or else Mr. Cathcart was right, and Laurie was
in the presence of some danger called insanity which Mr. Cathcart
interpreted in some strange fashion she could not understand. And
beneath all this again moved the further questions as to what
spiritualism really was--what it professed to be, or mere
superstitious nonsense, or something else.
She was amazed that she had not demanded greater explicitness this
morning; but the thing had been so startling, so suggestive at first,
so insignificant in its substance, that her ordinary common sense had
deserted her. The old gentleman had come and gone like a wraith, had
uttered a few inconclusive sentences, and promised to write, had been
disappointed with her at one moment and enthusiastic the next.
Obviously their planes ran neither parallel nor opposing; they cut at
unexpected points; and Maggie had no notion as to the direction in
which his lay. All she saw plainly was that there was some point of
view other than hers.
So, then, she revolved theories, questioned, argued, doubted with
herself. One thing only emerged--the old lady's feverish cold afforded
her exactly the opportunity she wished; she could write to Laurie with
perfect truthfulness that his mother had taken to her bed, and that
she hoped he would come down next week instead of the week after.
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