"Well, they do cost a great deal, don't they?" She had a trick of ending
her sentences with a question. "I hope your room is comfortable, and
that you don't feel timid about being alone on that floor. If you
haven't nerves, you can't get nervous, can you?"
"No, I can't get nervous." Yet while I spoke, I was conscious of a
shiver deep down in me, as if my senses reacted again to the dread that
permeated the atmosphere.
As soon as I could, I escaped to my room, and I was sitting there over a
book, when the maid--her name was Hopkins, I had discovered--came in on
the pretext of inquiring if I had everything I needed. One of the
innumerable servants had already turned down my bed, so when Hopkins
appeared at the door, I suspected at once that there was a hidden motive
underlying her ostensible purpose.
"Mrs. Vanderbridge told me to look after you," she began. "She is afraid
you will be lonely until you learn the way of things."
"No, I'm not lonely," I answered. "I've never had time to be lonely."
"I used to be like that; but time hangs heavy on my hands now. That's
why I've taken to knitting." She held out a gray yarn muffler. "I had an
operation a year ago, and since then Mrs. Vanderbridge has had another
maid--a French one--to sit up for her at night and undress her. She is
always so fearful of overtaxing us, though there isn't really enough
work for two lady's-maids, because she is so thoughtful that she never
gives any trouble if she can help it."
"It must be nice to be rich," I said idly, as I turned a page of my
book. Then I added almost before I realized what I was saying, "The
other lady doesn't look as if she had so much money."
Her face turned paler if that were possible, and for a minute I thought
she was going to faint. "The other lady?"
"I mean the one who came down late to dinner--the one in the gray dress.
She wore no jewels, and her dress wasn't low in the neck."
"Then you saw her?" There was a curious flicker in her face as if her
pallor came and went.
"We were at the table when she came in. Has Mr. Vanderbridge a secretary
who lives in the house?"
"No, he hasn't a secretary except at his office. When he wants one at
the house, he telephones to his office."
"I wondered why she came, for she didn't eat any dinner, and nobody
spoke to her--not even Mr. Vanderbridge."
"Oh, he never speaks to her. Thank God, it hasn't come to that yet."
"Then why does she come? It must be dreadful to be treated like that,
and before the servants, too. Does she come often?"
"There are months and months when she doesn't. I can always tell by the
way Mrs. Vanderbridge picks up. You wouldn't know her, she is so full of
life--the very picture of happiness. Then one evening she--the Other
One, I mean--comes back again, just as she did tonight, just as she did
last summer, and it all begins over from the beginning."
"But can't they keep her out--the Other One? Why do they let her in?"
"Mrs. Vanderbridge tries hard. She tries all she can every minute. You
saw her tonight?"
"And Mr. Vanderbridge? Can't he help her?"