how is your planchette getting on? I've been lazy about my crystal, but I get so tired of my own nose.”
“Planchette would write nothing but a few names,” said Georgie, omitting the fact that Olga’s was the most frequent. “I think I shall drop it.”
This was but reasonable, for since Riseholme had some new and absorbing excitement every few weeks, to say nothing of the current excitement of daily life, it followed that even the most thrilling pursuits could not hold the stage for very long. Still, the interest in spiritualism had died down with the rapidity of the seed on stony ground.
“Even Mrs. Quantock seems to have cooled,” said Olga. “She and her husband were here last night, and they looked rather bored when I suggested table-turning. I wonder if anything has happened to put her off it?”
“What do you think could have?” asked Georgie with Riseholme alacrity.
“Georgie, do you really believe in the Princess and Pocky?” she asked.
Georgie looked round to see that there was no one within hearing.
“I did at the time,” he said, “at least I think I did. But it seems less likely now. Who was the Princess anyway? Why didn’t we ever hear of her before? I believe Mrs Quantock met her in the train or something.”
“So do I,” said Olga. “But not a word. It makes Aunt Jane and Uncle Jacob completely happy to believe in it all. Their lines of life are
