"I didn't choose, sir. It was done, and I daredn't go agin it."
"I have nothing to say to that; I must wait for your explanation. What I was about to remark was, why that evil-beaked bird----"
"Which I wish," she interposed, "had been burnt before it was stuffed."
"----Should bear so strange a resemblance," I continued, "to the portrait of your husband, and why both should bear so strange a resemblance to the stone monster on your mantelshelf, is so very much beyond me, that I cannot for the life of me arrive at a satisfactory solution of the mystery. Surely it cannot spring from a diseased imagination, for you have the same fancy as myself."
"It ain't fancy, sir; it's fact. And the sing'lar part of it is that the party as brought them all three into the house is as much like them as they are to each other."
"We're getting on solid ground," I said. "The party who brought them into the house--who gave you the stone monster, who painted your husband's portrait and yours, who stuffed the bird; for, doubtless, he was the taxidermist. An Admirable Crichton, indeed, in the way of accomplishments! You see, Fanny, you are introducing me to new acquaintances. You have not mentioned this party before. A man, I presume."
"I suppose so, sir," she said, with an awestruck look.
"Why suppose?" I asked. "In such a case, supposition is absurd. He is, or is not, a man."
"Let us call him so, sir. It'll make things easier."
"Very much easier, and they will be easier still if you will be more explicit. I seem to be getting more and more in the dark. In looking again upon your portrait, Fanny----"