Miss Shirley makes a very good ghost," he suggested.

Mrs. Stager would not at first commit herself further than to say in
bringing him the butter, "She's just up from a long fit of sickness."
She impulsively added, "She ain't hardly strong enough to be doing what
she is, I tell her."

"I understood she had been ill," Verrian said. "We drove over from the
station together, the other day."

"Yes," Mrs. Stager admitted. "Kind of a nervous breakdown, I believe.
But she's got an awful spirit. Mrs. Westangle don't want her to do all
she is doing."

Verrian looked at her in surprise. He had not expected that of the
India-rubber nature he had attributed to Mrs. Westangle. In view of Mrs.
Stager's privity to the unimagined kindliness of his hostess, he relaxed
himself in a further interest in Miss Shirley, as if it would now be
safe. "She's done splendidly, so far," he said, meaning the girl.
"I'm glad Mrs. Westangle appreciates her work."

"I guess," Mrs. Stager said, "that if it hadn't been for you at the
snow-fight--She got back from getting ready for it, that morning, almost
down sick, she was afraid so it was going to fail."

"I didn't do anything," Verrian said, putting the praise from him.

Mrs. Stager lowered her voice in an octave of deeper confidentiability.
"You got the note? I put it under, and I didn't know."