Indeed, it was this singularity that had caused Mrs.
Stapleton to apply for an invitation to the house. More than once
during lunch, in a pause of the conversation, Maggie saw her throw
back her head slightly as if to appreciate some odor or color not
experienced by coarser-nerved persons. Once, indeed, she actually put
this into words.
"Dear Laura was quite right," cried the lady; "there is something very
unique about this place. How fortunate you are, dear Mrs. Baxter!"
"My dear husband's grandfather bought the place," observed the
mistress plaintively. "We have always found it very soothing and
pleasant."
"How right you are! And--and have you had any experiences here?"
Mrs. Baxter eyed her in alarm. Maggie had an irrepressible burst of
internal laughter, which, however, gave no hint of its presence in her
steady features. She glanced at Laurie, who was eating mutton with a
depressed air.
"I was talking to Mr. Vincent, the great spiritualist," went on the
other vivaciously, "only last week. You have heard of him, Mrs.
Baxter? I was suggesting to him that any place where great emotions
have been felt is colored and stained by them as objectively as old
walls are weather-beaten.
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