"Oh, he knows she is there, but not in that way. He doesn't know that any one else knows."
I gave it up, and after a minute she said in a suppressed voice, "It seems strange that you should have seen her. I never have."
"But you know all about her."
"I know and I don't know. Mrs. Vanderbridge lets things drop sometimes—she gets ill and feverish very easily—but she never tells me anything outright. She isn't that sort."
"Haven't the servants told you about her—the Other One?"
At this, I thought, she seemed startled. "Oh, they don't know anything to tell. They feel that something is wrong; that is why they never stay longer than a week or two—we've had eight butlers since autumn—but they never see what it is."
She stooped to pick up the ball of yarn which had rolled under my chair. "If the time ever comes when you can stand between them, you will do it?" she asked.
"Between Mrs. Vanderbridge and the Other One?"
Her look answered me.
"You think, then, that she means harm to her?"