Therefore her words and tones were kinder than usual, and she made slight and delicate references to herself, that he might be led to speak of himself.  At last she hit upon domestic affairs as a safe, natural ground of approach, and gave a humorous account of some of her recent efforts to learn the mysteries of housekeeping, and she did not fail to observe his wistful and deeply-interested expression.

Suddenly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, she remarked:  “I do not see how you manage to keep house in that great, empty mansion of yours.”

“You know, then, where I live?”

“Oh, yes.  I saw you descend the steps of a house on Madison Avenue one morning last fall, and supposed it was your home.”

“You were undoubtedly right.  I can tell you just how I manage, or rather, how everything is managed, for I have little to do with the matter.  An old family servant looks after everything and provides me with my meals.  She makes out my daily menu according to her ’own will,’ which is ‘sweet’ if not crossed.”

“Indeed!  Are you so indifferent?  I thought men gave much attention to their dinners.”

“I do to mine, after it is provided.  Were I fastidious, old Cynthy would give me no cause for complaint.  Then I have a man who looks after the fires and the horses, etc.  I am too good a republican to keep a valet.  So you see that my domestic arrangements are simple in the extreme.”

“And do those two people constitute your whole household?” she asked, wondering at a frankness which seemed complete.

“Yes.  The ghosts and I have the house practically to ourselves most of the time.”

“Are there ghosts?” she asked, laughing, but with cheeks that began to burn in her kindling interest.

“There are ghosts in every house where people have lived and died; that is, if you knew and cared for the people.  My father is with me very often!”

“Mr. Merwyn, I don’t understand you!” she exclaimed, without trying to disguise her astonishment.  The conversation was so utterly unlike anything that had occurred between them before that she wondered whither it was leading.  “I fear you are growing morbid,” she added.

“I hope not.  Nor will you think so when I explain.  Of course nothing like gross superstition is in my mind.  I remember my father very well, and have heard much about him since he died.  Therefore he has become to me a distinct presence which I can summon at will.  The same is true of others with whom the apartments are associated.  If I wish I can summon them.”

“I am at a loss to know which is the greater, your will or your imagination.”

“My imagination is the greater.”

“It must be great, indeed,” she said, smiling alluringly, “for I never knew of one who seemed more untrammelled in circumstances than you are, or more under the dominion of his own will.”