Part 18 (1/2)

Towards Simeon's portal, held sacred to ”The Keepers of the Keys of the Silent House,” Kate Rice and Dr. Britt set their faces at the appointed hour.

”The plot thickens round the girl,” began Britt, with a kind of mocking levity. ”Mrs. Lambert has done it now!”

They had reached the comparative quiet of the cross-street. ”What has she done?”

”She has delivered her ewe-lamb over to this ancient wolf of Wall Street, who will eat her up for a Little Red Riding-hood. I've been looking into Pratt's record. He has a cheerful way, I'm told, of treating his 'psychics' like oranges--squeezing them and throwing them into the street. He has become so sensitive to the sneers of the outsiders that he fears to be 'done.' After getting all that a medium can give him, he 'exposes' her elaborately, and sets her adrift, and so guards himself from the possible accusation of having been deceived. If there is any question of the medium's powers, he can then come out with a card saying: 'I knew So-and-so was a fraud. I exposed her two years--or two months--ago.' I see the girl's finish right here.”

”The dreadful old man! Does the girl know this?”

”I don't think she does, but she ought to. I hate to see a nice girl, who would make some one a charming wife, perverted to these unholy uses. The crowning infamy heaped upon her head will be a full page in the _Sunday Blast_--'Another Harpie Exposed'--and it will come, Mrs.

Rice, I am sure of it. Pratt fairly fawns before her now. She is his princess, his seeress, his chief jewel; but woe to her if she displeases him or fails to meet his requirements.”

”You appall me, Dr. Britt. Some one should at least warn her.”

”I've already done so; but with the mother, Clarke, and Pratt to war against, the case seems hopeless. Besides, she believes in herself--up to a certain point. She'll never degenerate into one of those frumps who go from city to city playing to the foolish women and tack-headed men, but she will certainly be corrupted. If she marries Clarke her future will be woful. She has entered in so far I don't see how she can retreat. She is bound to keep on for his sake and her mother's sake.”

”Is she in love with Clarke?”

”That I haven't been able to determine, but she is under his control, or she wouldn't be here.”

With these gloomy words in her ears Kate entered the big, cold drawing-room to wait for the coming of the master of the house.

”Pratt is the one to whom you are to pay your first respects--he is master,” warned Britt. ”Ask to see his collections--that always pleases him. If you will permit, I will lead the way.”

”I am trusting you.”

”You may do so.”

Pratt came in quite briskly, a heavy-faced, white-bearded man, wearing a sack-suit and an old-fas.h.i.+oned turn-down collar. He greeted Britt with a casual hand-shake, looking at Kate suspiciously. ”And who is this?” he asked, bluffly.

”A friend of mine, a Mrs. Rice, who desires to see your wonderful collection of slates and paintings.”

Pratt softened a little. ”I'll be very glad to show them,” he said, ”but not now. I'll have to ask you to excuse me just now. I am in consultation with my directors.”

”Certainly,” said Britt, and, after Pratt went out, he added: ”That means that Clarke is going to launch his thunderbolt. He's going to defy the scientific world in the most burning oration since Cicero.”

At this moment two ladies, in superb wraps, descended the stairway on their way to their carriages, and one of them said, ”I think it's a shame--as long as we've known Simeon Pratt--to be turned away like a tramp!”

”Oh, I don't blame her,” said the other.

”Some disappointed callers,” said Britt.

A moment later several other curious ones were ushered into the drawing-room. Britt kept up a low-toned comment. ”All these rubber-necks are here to see the girl. You will be surprised to know how many there are with a sneaking belief in these revelations.”

It was a singular situation in which to find Simeon Pratt--major-domo to a crowd of idle curiosity-seekers--and when he returned, with an a.s.sumption of haste and bustle, Britt saw him in a new light--that of a poor, lonely, broken old man, weary of life, yet living on in daily hope of communion with the dead, stuffing his heart with dreams and delusions, walking mechanically round, interested only in death.

He had forgotten Kate's name, but he remembered her wish to see his treasures.

”Come to my library,” he said; ”but first let me call your attention to this remarkable painting.”