"These are foolish fancies, Geraldine. See, I have brushed your hair well. Will you do it up?"
She took the tresses in her hands mechanically and bound them in the fashion she wore them.
"You do not play the piano as you used, Geraldine. I have heard that ghosts hate music as much as they hate sunshine or anything else that is cheerful. When you have got on your dress, come down-stairs and play me something, and you shall hear me sing. I had a voice once."
"I do not care to play," she answered wearily.
"You have tired yourself with digging. Lie down a little and I will fetch a book and read you to sleep."
"I could not lie down. How strong the light is! Draw the curtains."
I did as she bade me, and took a chair at the window.
"Do not watch me so, Arthur," she said peevishly. "You have learned that trick from your friend. Your eyes seem as sharp as his."
I averted my face, leaning my cheek on my hand.