He felt that she might become a disturbing element in the pleasant gathering.

Also he was beginning to suspect that she did not like him, and it was a disagreeable, unnerving suspicion in his present mood.
"What do you think of Bubbles Dunster ?" he asked.
"Oh, I like her!" cried Helen.

"I think she's a wonderful girl!" And then her voice took on a graver tinge: "I couldn't help being very much impressed last night, Mr.Varick.You see, my father, who died when I was only eight years old, always called me 'Girlie.' Somehow that made me feel as if _he was really there_." "And yet," said Varick slowly, "Bubbles told you nothing that you didn't know?
To my mind what happened last night was simply a clever exhibition of thought-reading.

She's always had the gift." "The odd thing was," said Helen, after a moment's hesitation, "that she said my father didn't like my being here.

_That_ wasn't thought-reading--" "There's something a little queer--a little tricky and malicious sometimes--about Bubbles," he said meaningly.
Helen looked at him, startled.