“Yes, do smoke, Mr. Vincent.”

The man drew out his cigarette-case, smiling, offering it to the two men.  Laurie took one; the clergyman refused.

“And now, Mr. Vincent.”

Again he smiled, in a half-embarrassed way.

“But no speeches, I think you said,” he remarked.

“Oh! well, you know what I mean; just like friends, you know.  Treat us all like that.”

Mrs. Stapleton rose, came nearer the circle, rustled down again, and sank into an elaborate silence.

“Well, what is it these gentlemen wish to hear?”

“Everything—­everything,” cried Lady Laura.  “They claim to know nothing at all.”

Laurie thought it time to explain himself a little.  He felt he would not like to take this man at an unfair advantage.

“I should just like to say this,” he said.  “I have told Mrs. Stapleton already.  It is this.  I must confess that so far as I am concerned I am not a believer.  But neither am I a skeptic.  I am just a real agnostic in this matter.  I have read several books; and I have been impressed.  But there’s a great deal in them that seems to me nonsense; perhaps I had better say which I don’t understand.  This materializing business, for instance....  I can understand that the minds of the dead can affect ours; but I don’t see how they can affect matter—­in table-rapping, for instance, and still more in appearing, and our being able to touch and see them....  I think that’s my position,” he ended rather lamely.

The fact was that he was a little disconcerted by the other’s eyes.  They were, as I have said, kind and shrewd eyes, but they had a good deal of power as well.  Mr. Vincent sat motionless during this little speech, just looking at him, not at all offensively, yet with the effect of making the young man feel rather like a defiant and naughty little boy who is trying to explain.

Laurie sat back and drew on his cigarette rather hard.

“I understand perfectly,” said the steady voice.  “You are in a very reasonable position.  I wish all were as open-minded.  May I say a word or two?”

“Please.”

“Well, it is materialization that puzzles you, is it?”

“Exactly,” said Laurie.  “Our theologians tell us—­by the way, I am a Catholic.” (The other bowed a little.) “Our theologians, I believe, tell us that such a thing cannot be, except under peculiar circumstances, as in the lives of the saints, and so on.”

“Are you bound to believe all that your theologians say?” asked the other quietly.

“Well, it would be very rash indeed—­” began Laurie.

“Exactly, I see.  But what if you approach it from the other side, and try to find out instead whether these things actually do happen.  I do not wish to be rude, Mr. Baxter; but you remember that your theologians—­I am not so foolish as to say the Church, for I know that that was not so—­but your theologians, you know, made a mistake about Galileo.”