Maggie paused again, looking rather serious. Her voice had risen a little, and a new color had come to her face as she talked. She stooped to pick up the saucer.
"Dearest, had you better--"
"Oh! yes: I've just about done," said Maggie briskly. "There's hardly any more. Well, there's the idea. They want to get possession of human beings and move them, so they start like that.
"Well; that's what Mr. Cathcart says happened to Laurie. One of those Beasts came and impersonated poor Amy. He picked up certain things about her--her appearance, her trick of stammering, and of playing with her fingers, and about her grave and so on: and then, finally, made his appearance in her shape."
"I don't understand about that," murmured the girl.
"Oh! my dear, I can't bother about that now. There's a lot about astral substance, and so on. Besides, this is only what Mr. Cathcart says. As I told you, I'm not at all sure that I believe one word of it. But that's his idea."
Maggie stopped again suddenly, and leaned back, staring out at the luminous green roof of hazels above her. The small cat could be discerned half-way up the leafy tunnel swaying its body in preparation for a pounce, while overhead sounded an agitated twittering. Mabel seized a pebble, and threw it with such success that the swaying stopped, and a reproachful cat-face looked round at her.
"There!" said Mabel comfortably; and then, "Well, what do you really think?"
Maggie smiled reflectively.
"That's exactly what I don't know myself in the very least. As I said, all this seems to me more like a dream--and a very bad one. I think it's the ... the nastiest thing," she added vindictively, "that I've ever come across; I don't want to hear one word more about it as long as I live."
"But--"
"Oh, my dear, why can't we be all just sensible and normal? I love doing just ordinary little things--the garden, and the chickens, and the cat and dog and complaining to the butcher. I cannot imagine what anybody wants with anything else. Yes; I suppose I do, in a sort of way, believe Mr. Cathcart. It seems to me, granted the spiritual world at all--which, naturally, I do grant--far the most intelligent explanation. It seems to me, intellectually, far the most broad-minded explanation; because it really does take in all the facts--if they are facts--and accounts for them reasonably. Whereas the subjective--self business--oh, it's frightfully clever and ingenious--but it does assume such a very great deal. It seems to me rather like the people who say that electricity accounts for everything--electricity! And as for the imagination theory--well, that's what appeals to me now, emotionally--because I happen to be in the chickens and butcher mood; but it doesn't in the least convince me. Yes; I suppose Mr. Cathcart's theory is the one I ought to believe, and, in a way, the one I do believe; but that doesn't in the least prevent me from feeling it extraordinarily unreal and impossible. Anyhow, it doesn't matter much."