The silence was becoming awkward. Outside the rain was streaming from the roof, and the wind moaned with sullen fury.
“How do you like this place?” she asked, to say something.
“It is quiet, and suits me, but …”
“What?”
He glanced at her. “Well, this horrible murder at the castle has rather upset things.”
She gave a nervous shudder. “It has upset us all. I get quite frightened, my brother is out so much, and I sit here and listen to the wind, and imagine all sorts of things.”
“You poor girl!” he said so gently that it took all the familiarity from the remark.
“The villagers, what there are of them, declare there is a curse on the Reckaviles,” she said and shivered.
“You don’t believe that?”
“I don’t know, I went and looked at the castle—it’s a dreary place, and one can picture anything happening there.”