"Why?" demanded Linda. "Suppose, for example, your pencil had marked
William's name! That would have been im--immoral!"

"_Would_ it?" asked Sacharissa, turning her honest, gray eyes on her
brother-in-law.

"I don't believe it would," he said; "I'd only be switched on to Linda's
current again." And he smiled at his wife.

Sacharissa sat thoughtful and serious, swinging her foot.

"Well," she said, at length, "I might as well face it at once. If there's
anything in this instrument we'll all know it pretty soon. Turn on your
receiver, Billy."

"Oh," cried Linda, tearfully, "don't you do it, William!"

"Turn it on," repeated Sacharissa. "I'm not going to be a coward and
break faith with myself, and you both know it! If I've got to go through
the silliness of love and marriage I might as well know who the bandarlog
is to be.... Anyway, I don't really believe in this thing.... I can't
believe in it.... Besides, I've a mind and a will of my own, and I fancy
it will require more than amateur psychical experiments to change either.
Go on, Billy."

"You mean it?" he asked, secretly gratified.

"Certainly," with superb affectation of indifference. And she rose and
faced the instrument.