This thought, however, was quickly followed by another that revived her uneasiness. Since the casement had been ajar all the evening why had it not flapped before?
"The wind must be rising," thought Beatrice: and with this reasonable explanation she resumed her reading.
O, that window!
It persisted in flapping to and fro at intervals, the irregularity of which was the most annoying part of the matter.
Sometimes the sound was so faint as to be scarcely audible: then, after a lapse of silence so long as to promise that the torment had altogether ceased, the casement would give a rattle louder than ever, and more startling by contrast with the previous stillness. A little more force on the part of the wind would result in the shattering of those diamond panes.
"I must go up and shut it!"
Sensible resolve! But it was not carried out. The incident, trifling though it was, combined with the effect of the novel, had reduced her to a state of nervousness so great that she durst not ascend the staircase to close the window. Despising herself for her cowardice she remained in her armchair, neglecting the only effectual way of ending the annoyance.
She glanced again at the dog, and derived some assurance from his quiet air. Though wideawake he did not display any signs of alarm.
"One advantage brute creatures have over the human," thought she. "They never frighten themselves with ghostly fears."