"What was the message?"
"Something about a debt she wanted us to pay. She was furious about it. I don't know of any debt; do you?"
"No. How did the message come?"
As Kate described it, the impersonation grew grotesque, lost much of its power to horrify, and Morton, though he writhed at thought of the girl's depravity, blamed the mother and Clarke for it. Kate made end by saying: "It was horrible to see, and it startled me. Then the other messages, those written ones, came through her hand--"
"Automatic writing, they call it. That has no value--none whatever. The whole programme was arranged for your benefit."
"No, it wasn't. The girl was carried out of herself. She is somehow enslaved by Clarke, and she wants help. She wants to be investigated; but she wants it done privately. She wants you to do it. She begs you to do it."
"Begs me?" His eyebrows lifted.
"Yes, she passionately desires your advice. The poor thing made an appeal that would have touched your heart. She wants to be cured of this horrid thing--whatever it is. She wants to escape from Pratt and Clarke and all the rest of those queer people. You must take it up, Morton. You must make up a committee and take charge of her."
"Clarke is mad. No reputable man of science will go on such a committee. The girl will fall into the hands of notoriety-seekers--men of position do not meddle with such questions."
Kate flared forth. "Why don't they? It is their duty just as much as it is Viola's duty to offer herself. That is where I lose patience with you men of science. Why don't you meet these people half-way? Women wouldn't be such bigots--such cowards. If you don't help this poor girl I'll consider you a bigot and coward with the rest."
"Your whole position is most feminine," said Morton, arguing as much against himself as against Kate. "You've only seen this girl once--you have witnessed only one of her performances, and yet you are ready to champion her before the world. I wish you'd tell me how you arrived at a conviction of her honesty. Think of it! She assumes to be the mouth-piece of the dead. The very assumption is a discredit."
"I don't care; she has good, honest, sweet eyes."
"I bow to the force of the eyes, but over against her claim I put the denials of science. The phenomena these fanatics base their hopes upon science has already proven to be tricks, illusions, deceits."
"I don't care, her story, her own attitude towards the thing, convinced me that she is honest."