It is another case of the old man and the donkey. If discarnate spirits _don't_ trouble about the personal affairs of those on earth, the "_Cui Bono_" argument is hurled at them. If they _do_, they are called blasphemous and irreverent!
The mention of the Waverly family reminds me of an incident which took place when I was staying in their house in the country, a year or two earlier than the time of which I am writing. I have reserved it purposely as a sequel to this last story, which is in its proper chronological setting.
In the year 1889 I was spending a pleasant fortnight with the Waverlys in Yorkshire, at the very time when a dear old friend of mine (Mrs Tennant) was dying in London. I had seen her only a week or two before, but had no knowledge of her illness, as we were not in constant correspondence, although there was a deep and strong affection between us.
I did not even hear of her death, in fact, till a few weeks after it took place, having missed the announcement in the papers. When Mrs Tennant's sister, Mrs Lane, wrote me the details, I had left Yorkshire, and was staying with cousins in Worcestershire. Thinking over the dates mentioned in describing the illness, I realised with a shock of pained surprise that the final state of unconsciousness must have set in the very evening when I was enjoying myself in Yorkshire, at a large dinner-party given by my host and hostess.
It seemed terrible to think that my dear and much loved friend should have been lying unconscious upon her death-bed, and that no word or sign should have come to me.
Then suddenly I remembered a curious little incident connected with that dinner-party.
I had been admiring a pretty little slate-coloured kitten belonging to the house, which was calmly sitting upon the grand piano after dinner, when the ladies were alone in the drawing-room. After the gentlemen joined us, I was deep in conversation with my host (a remarkably interesting and intelligent man), when I noticed a small _black_ kitten run past my dress. Probably I should have remarked upon it had we been less occupied in talking, for I am extremely fond of cats and animals in general. I did glance up, as a matter of fact, and satisfied myself that it was not the little slate-coloured kitty, which sat in still triumph on the piano. Besides, this kitten was _black_, not slate. I thought no more of it until the guests had left and Mrs Waverly and I were going upstairs to bed. She and I were very affinitive, but neither she nor her family had any special interest in psychology.