Fortunately, Maggie had a very deep sense of humor, and she hardly resented all this at all, nor even the tactful hints dropped from time to time, after the conventional part of the conversation was over, to the effect that Christianity was, of course, played out, and that a Higher Light had dawned.  Mrs. Stapleton did not quite say this outright, but it amounted to as much.  Even before Laurie came downstairs it appeared that the lady did not go to church, yet that, such was her broad-mindedness, she did not at all object to do so.  It was all one, it seemed, in the Deeper Unity.  Nothing particular was true; but all was very suggestive and significant and symbolical of something else to which Mrs. Stapleton and a few friends had the key.

Mrs. Baxter made more than one attempt to get back to more mundane subjects, but it was useless.  When even the weather serves as a symbol, the plain man is done for.

Then Laurie came in.

He looked very self-contained and rather pinched this morning, and shook hands with the lady without a word.  Then they moved across presently to the green-hung dining-room across the hall, and the exquisite symbol of Luncheon made its appearance.

Lady Laura, it appeared, was one of those who had felt the charm of Stantons; only for her it was psychical rather than physical, and all this was passed on by her friend.  It seemed that the psychical atmosphere of most modern houses was of a yellow tint, but that this one emanated a brown-gold radiance which was very peculiar and exceptional.  Indeed, it was this singularity that had caused Mrs. Stapleton to apply for an invitation to the house.  More than once during lunch, in a pause of the conversation, Maggie saw her throw back her head slightly as if to appreciate some odor or color not experienced by coarser-nerved persons.  Once, indeed, she actually put this into words.

“Dear Laura was quite right,” cried the lady; “there is something very unique about this place.  How fortunate you are, dear Mrs. Baxter!”

“My dear husband’s grandfather bought the place,” observed the mistress plaintively.  “We have always found it very soothing and pleasant.”

“How right you are!  And—­and have you had any experiences here?” Mrs. Baxter eyed her in alarm.  Maggie had an irrepressible burst of internal laughter, which, however, gave no hint of its presence in her steady features.  She glanced at Laurie, who was eating mutton with a depressed air.

“I was talking to Mr. Vincent, the great spiritualist,” went on the other vivaciously, “only last week.  You have heard of him, Mrs. Baxter?  I was suggesting to him that any place where great emotions have been felt is colored and stained by them as objectively as old walls are weather-beaten.  I had such an interesting conversation, too, with Cardinal Newman on the subject”—­she smiled brilliantly at Maggie, as if to reassure her of her own orthodoxy—­“scarcely six weeks ago.”