“I—I hear the maids talking about a ghost, Miss—foolish things——”
“And I’m not foolish, Mr. Lawdor,” said the Western girl, laughing shortly. “Not that way, at least. I heard her; last night I saw her. Next time I’m going to speak to her—Unless it isn’t allowed.”
“It—it isn’t allowed, Miss,” said Lawdor, speaking softly, and with a glance at the closed door of the room.
“Nobody has forbidden me to speak to her,” declared Helen, boldly. “And I’m curious—mighty curious, Mr. Lawdor. Surely she is a nice old lady—there is nothing the matter with her?”
The butler touched his forehead with a shaking finger. “A little wrong there, Miss,” he whispered. “But Mary Boyle is as innocent and harmless as a baby herself.”
“Can’t you tell me about her—who she is—why she lives up there—and all?”
“Not here, Miss.”
“Why not?” demanded Helen, boldly.
“It might offend Mr. Starkweather, Miss. Not that he has anything to do with Mary Boyle. He had to take the old house with her in it.”
“What do you mean, Lawdor?” gasped Helen, growing more and more amazed and—naturally—more and more curious.