"What are you two up to?" Luke persisted after a moment. "Your English ruling arrived?"
"Something better than a ruling," boasted Lucas, who had quite recovered himself. "Did you see in the papers to-day that Mrs. Brand, the great English medium, had arrived in New York from London?"
"Yes," said Luke; "why?"
"She's on her way here; we have arranged it. We get our ruling here. You will see!" And Lucas became most laconically mystifying, as was his habit when gestating a plan with which he was particularly pleased. But he pretended to more complete gratification than he was experiencing in these days, when, upon suddenly entering Sarah's and his bedroom, he was likely to find her on her knees before a chair, praying—as he well knew—for him as well as for herself. Often he turned about and went out, ignoring her; sometimes he waited until she arose and then, bending very tenderly, he kissed her; but sometimes, too, he interrupted her by catching her arm, firmly but never roughly, and pulling her to her feet.
"You're getting morbid, Sarah!" he explained unsatisfyingly, when her eyes looked into his. "Morbid!"
Miss Platt's grief also absurdly affected him, though he believed that it could not be sincere; for she knew that Kincheloe had never loved her, and she had never really loved him. She had merely wanted a husband, Lucas said; and Kincheloe had proved himself certainly of the most unworthy sort. Yet Miss Platt now left Lucas's employ.
She had done this before; and indeed, while in Chicago, Lucas had little need of her; but this was termination, not only of her employment, but of all relations
