The Head had noticed her
just about as much as a Head notices a pale file-clerk in a white
shirt-waist and a black skirt. This radiant rose-maiden--"little
Dawn-rose," old Riedriech called her--was new to him; and so, I
fancy, was a Miss Smith in such a frock as I was wearing. He, as
well as his wife and Miss Phelps-Parsons, accepted us at our
face-value, with the background of Hynds House outlining us.
Miss Emmeline Phelps-Parsons was a lady with a soul. She said she
had psychic consciousness and a clear green aura, and that she had
been an Egyptian priestess in Thebes, in the time of Sesostris. In
proof of this she showed us a fine little bronze Osiris holding a
whip in one hand and the ankh in the other. ("My dear, the moment I
saw him, I knew I had once prayed to him!") and she always wore a
scarab ring. She had bought both in an antique-shop just off
Washington Street. I thought this rather a far cry from Thebes,
myself, but The Author insisted that if a Theban vestal of the time
of Sesostris _had_ to reincarnate, she would naturally and
inevitably come to life a Boston one.
The Author hadn't taken any too kindly to the notion of other people
coming to Hynds House.
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