"Oh, dear!" the girl said; and then, as if she had been going to
continue, she stopped.

"You've still got your half-question, Miss Andrews," Bushwick interposed.

"Even if we didn't mean it to deceive harmfully?" the girl pursued.
"If it was just on impulse, something we couldn't seem to help, and we
didn't see it in its true light at the time--"

The ghost made no answer. It stood motionless.

"It is offended," Bushwick said, without knowing the Shakespearian words.
"You've asked it three times half a question, Miss Andrews. Now, Mr.
Verrian, it's your turn. You can ask it just one-quarter of a question.
Miss Andrews has used up the rest of your share."

Verrian rose awkwardly and stood a long moment before his chair. Then he
dropped back again, saying, dryly, "I don't think I want to ask it
anything."

The phantom sank straight down as if sinking through the floor, but lay
there like a white shawl trailed along the bottom of the dark curtain.

"And is that all?" Miss Macroyd asked Verrian. "I was just getting up my
courage to go forward. But now, I suppose--"

"Oh, dear!" Miss Andrews called out. "Perhaps it's fainted. Hadn't we
better--"