“Dear me, this is getting interesting,” said Mr Morpeth. “What or whom is it haunted by, pray?”
Mrs Golding looked up at him sharply, then with a slight smile she shook her head.
“You would only make fun of it if I told you, sir,” she said, “and somehow one doesn’t care to have old stories made fun of, silly though they may be.”
“No,” said Mary, “one doesn’t. I think you are quite right,” and the old woman looked pleased.
“You won’t prevent my seeing the haunted room, though you won’t tell me its story?” said Mr Morpeth, good-naturedly. So Mrs Golding led the way.
They passed along the arched picture-gallery, which in itself merited Mrs Greville’s praises, though the pictures it contained were neither many nor remarkable.
“I like this room,” said Mary, approvingly. “It is much less commonplace than the drawing-room—not that I have seen many great houses,” she added, with a smile, to Mr Morpeth, who was walking beside her, “but this is a room one would remember wherever one went.”
“Yes,” said Mr Morpeth. “It is a room with a character of its own, certainly. Frances will be calling it romantic and picturesque and all the rest of it. I am so tired of all those words.”
“I am afraid you are tired of most things,” said Mary. “See what an advantage we dwellers at home have over you travelled people!”
Her spirits were rising. So far there had been nothing at all in the expedition to arouse her fears, and she began to think they had been exaggerated.