And my heart sank, my curiosity died away on the instant; I felt bored.
A commonplace haunted house was the last thing in the world to amuse or
interest me. The mere thought exasperated, with its suggestions of
imagination, overwrought nerves, hysteria, and the rest.
Mingled with my other feelings was certainly disappointment. To see a
figure or feel a "presence," and report from day to day strange
incidents to each other would be a form of weariness I could never
tolerate.
"But really, Frances," I said firmly, after a moment's pause, "it's too
far-fetched, this explanation. A curse, you know, belongs to the ghost
stories of early Victorian days." And only my positive conviction that
there was something after all worth discovering, and that it most
certainly was not this, prevented my suggesting that we terminate our
visit forthwith, or as soon as we decently could. "This is not a haunted
house, whatever it is," I concluded somewhat vehemently, bringing my
hand down upon her odious portfolio.
My sister's reply revived my curiosity sharply.
"I was waiting for you to say that. Mabel says exactly the same. He is
in it--but it's something more than that alone, something far bigger and
more complicated.
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