She looked down again at the jar, and saw the spider pointing to itself with its number two leg on the right.
"My name," said the voice, sociably, "is Arachne. What's yours?"
"Er — Lydia," said Lydia, uncertainly.
"Oh, dear! Why?" asked the voice.
Lydia felt a trifle nettled. "What do you mean, why?" she asked.
"Well, as I recall it, Lydia was sent to hell as a punishment for doing very nasty things to her lover. I suppose you aren't given to—?"
"Certainly not," Lydia said, cutting the voice short.
"Oh," said the voice, doubtfully. "Still, they can't have given you the name for nothing. And, mind you, I never really blamed Lydia. Lovers, in my experience, usually deserve—" Lydia lost the rest as she looked around the room again, uncertainly.
"I don't understand," she said. "I mean, is it really—?"
"Oh, it's me, all right," said the spider. And to make sure, it indicated itself again, this time with the third leg on the left.