"I beg your pardon," she
said; "I am sure you mean to be kind."
"Well," said the stranger, "that is perhaps going too far on the other
side, for you can't even see my face, to know what I mean. But I do mean
to be kind, and I am very sorry for you. And though I think you've been
treated abominably, all the same I like you better for not allowing any
one to say so. And now, do you know where I was going? I was going to the
vicarage,--where you are living, I believe,--to see if the vicar, or his
wife, or you, or all of you together, could do a thing for me."
"Oh, I am sure Mrs. Bowyer--" said Mary, with a voice much less assured
than her words.
"You must not be too sure, my dear. I know she doesn't mean to call upon
me, because my husband is a city man. That is just as she pleases. I am
not very fond of city men myself. But there's no reason why I should
stand on ceremony when I want something, is there? Now, my dear, I want
to know--Don't laugh at me. I am not superstitious, so far as I am aware;
but--Tell me, in your time was there ever any disturbance, any appearance
you couldn't understand, any--Well, I don't like the word ghost. It's
disrespectful, if there's anything of the sort: and it's vulgar if there
isn't. But you know what I mean. Was there anything--of that sort--in
your time?"
In your time! Poor Mary had scarcely realized yet that her time was over.
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