here from London after doing something he shouldn't--I really forget
what. The sheriff's officers were advancing on the house. Their approach
displeased him, and he put an end to himself at the head of the little
staircase leading from the tapestry-room down to my sitting-room. Why
did he choose the _staircase_?" said Mrs. Boyce with light
reflectiveness.

"It won't do," said Marcella, shaking her head. "I know the Boyce they
mean. He was a ruffian, but he shot himself in London; and, any way, he
was dead long before that staircase was built."

"Dear me, how well up you are!" said her mother. "Suppose you give a
little lecture on the family in the servants' hall. Though I never knew
a ghost yet that was undone by dates."

There was a satiric detachment in her tone which contrasted sharply with
Marcella's amused but sympathetic interest. _Detachment_ was perhaps the
characteristic note of Mrs. Boyce's manner,--a curious separateness, as
it were, from all the things and human beings immediately about her.

Marcella pondered.

"I shall ask Mr. Harden about the stories," she said presently. "He will
have heard them in the village. I am going to the church this morning."

Her mother looked at her--a look of quiet examination--and smiled. The
Lady Bountiful airs that Marcella had already assumed during the six
weeks she had been in the house entertained Mrs. Boyce exceedingly.

"Harden!" said Mr. Boyce, catching the name. "I wish that man would