"You looked so upset I thought you might have seen something," she said. "Did anything happen while you were in the room?"
"She was there all the time—every blessed minute. You walked right through her when you put the log on the fire. Is it possible that you didn't see her?"
"No, I didn't see anything out of the way." She was plainly frightened. "Where was she standing?"
"On the hearthrug in front of Mr. Vanderbridge. To reach the fire you had to walk straight through her, for she didn't move. She didn't give way an inch."
"Oh, she never gives way. She never gives way living or dead."
This was more than human nature could stand. "In Heaven's name," I cried irritably, "who is she?"
"Don't you know?" She appeared genuinely surprised. "Why, she is the other Mrs. Vanderbridge. She died fifteen years ago, just a year after they were married, and people say a scandal was hushed up about her, which he never knew. She isn't a good sort, that's what I think of her, though they say he almost worshipped her."
"And she still has this hold on him?"
"He can't shake it off, that's what's the matter with him, and if it goes on, he will end his days in an asylum. You see, she was very young, scarcely more than a girl, and he got the idea in his head that it was marrying him that killed her. If you want to know what I think, I believe she puts it there for a purpose."
"You mean—?" I was so completely at sea that I couldn't frame a rational question.