He paused, and looked at her in consternation. She was lying back in the sofa with her thin arms joined behind her head, and ‘crooning’ to herself, as was her frequent habit.
This time the words and tune were from a familiar play, which she had seen represented at San Francisco.
Black spirits and white,
Blue spirits and grey,
Mingle, mingle, mingle,
You that mingle may!
‘I do believe you’re downright mad!’ exclaimed the little Professor. ‘Tell me the truth, Eustasia—do you love this man Bradley?’
Eustasia ceased singing, but remained in the same attitude.
‘I loved him who is dead,’ she replied, ‘and I love Mr. Bradley because he is so like the other. If you give me time I will win him over; I will make him love me.’
‘What nonsense you’re talking!’