“The lining of the Chair,” she explained. “There are some little secret pockets in it—haven’t you found them yet? Oh, you must look for them when I am gone—there is one very deep pocket just behind my head under a big golden fleur-de-lys. My first real proposal was put in that!”
“And did you accept it?”
“Yes,” said the Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl, smiling, “and he and I were married, and lived sixty years together!”
“Dear me!” I ejaculated. “And he—”
“He is very well, thank you!” said the Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl. “Quite as young as when I first met him,—and so am I!”
I had no words ready with which to reply to this astonishing statement. The Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl folded up her little fan and pressed its tip meditatively against her lips.
“You see we really loved each other,” she said with emphasis, “and so of course we have always loved each other! And as a natural result we shall always love each other!”
“Yes,—I understand—” I murmured vaguely.
“No, you don’t!” said the Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl quickly; “though perhaps I shouldn’t say that, because it sounds rude,—but I am afraid, you know, that you don’t quite see the point! The world has lost a number of good things since I was a girl in it,—and one of these good things is real, true love!”
“I don’t think you should say that!” I replied warmly; “I am sure people love each other quite as much as they ever did.”