Cathcart. (He's a dear, Mabel, even though I don't believe one
word he says.)
"Well, the spiritualist theory seems to me simple R.-O.-T.--rot. Mr.
Vincent, Mrs. Stapleton, and the rest, really think that the souls of
people actually come back and do these things; that it was, really and
truly, poor dear Amy Nugent who led Laurie such a dance. I'm quite,
quite certain that that's not true whatever else is.... Yes, I'll come
to the coincidences presently. But how can it possibly be that Amy
should come back and do these things, and hurt Laurie so horribly?
Why, she couldn't if she tried. My dear, to be quite frank, she was a
very common little thing: and, besides, she wouldn't have hurt a hair
of his head.
"Now for Mr. Cathcart."
There was a long pause. A small cat stepped out suddenly from the
hazel tangle behind and eyed the two girls. Then, quite noiselessly,
as it caught Maggie's eye, it opened its mouth in a pathetic curve
intended to represent, an appeal.
"You darling!" cried Maggie suddenly; seized a saucer, filled it with
milk, and set it on the ground. The small cat stepped daintily down,
and set to work.
"Yes?" said the other girl tentatively.
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