“Mrs. Vanderbridge tries hard. She tries all she can every minute. You saw her to-night?”
“And Mr. Vanderbridge? Can’t he help her?”
She shook her head with an ominous gesture. “He doesn’t know.”
“He doesn’t know she is there? Why, she was close by him. She never took her eyes off him except when she was staring through me at the wall.”
“Oh, he knows she is there, but not in that way. He doesn’t know that any one else knows.”
I gave it up, and after a minute she said in a suppressed voice, “It seems strange that you should have seen her. I never have.”
“But you know all about her.”
“I know and I don’t know. Mrs. Vanderbridge lets things drop sometimes—she gets ill and feverish very easily—but she never tells me anything outright. She isn’t that sort.”
“Haven’t the servants told you about her—the Other One?”
At this, I thought, she seemed startled. “Oh, they don’t know anything to tell. They feel that something is wrong; that is why they never stay longer than a week or two—we’ve had eight butlers since autumn—but they never see what it is.”