I had not been looking at him directly, but I looked up at this and was astonished to find that his interest in what I had said was greater than appeared from his tone or even from his manner.
“You know the cause of Mrs. Packard’s present uneasiness?” I asked.
“Mayor Packard told me—the paragraph which appeared in yesterday morning’s paper. I have tried to find out its author, but I have failed so far.”
“That is a trifle,” I said. “The real cause—no, I prefer to stand,” I put in, for he was again urging me by a gesture to seat myself.
“The real cause—” he repeated.
“—is one you will smile at, but which you must nevertheless respect. She thinks—she has confided to us, in fact—that she has seen, within these walls, what many others profess to have seen. You understand me, Mr. Steele?”
“I don’t know that I do, Miss Saunders.”
“I find it hard to speak it; you have heard, of course, the common gossip about this house.”
“That it is haunted?” he smiled, somewhat disdainfully.
“Yes. Well, Mrs. Packard believes that she has seen what—what gives this name to the house.”