ONE warm afternoon in the summer of 1901 my grandmother asked me to
come into her bedroom because, in the big bow window of the house
overlooking our garden, there was, so she said, a ghost.
She pointed to the window. “Don't you see it, my dear? It's like the
figure of a woman. The people have left the house because it is
haunted.”
“Rubbish!” I answered. “I can’t see anyone.”
“Well,” she repeated, “it looks to me like a woman.”
I saw nothing, and said so. The next afternoon I was sitting by myself
in the garden, looking up at the bow window, when to my amazement a
shadowy figure as of a woman appeared on the pane. I was terrified and
went indoors, but I would not say a word to anyone for fear of being
laughed at.
For the next six weeks I saw that figure constantly and always in the
broad daylight, at 8:30 a.m., when I started for college, at one or
four, or any time in the full light of day. The house was empty; I
found that out.