第27章 A GRAMMATICAL GHOST(1)

THERE was only one possible ob-

jection to the drawing-room, and that was the occasional presence of Miss Carew; and only one pos-sible objection to Miss Carew.And that was, that she was dead.

She had been dead twenty years, as a matter of fact and record, and to the last of her life sacredly preserved the treasures and traditions of her family, a family bound up -- as it is quite unnecessary to explain to any one in good society -- with all that is most venerable and heroic in the history of the Republic.

Miss Carew never relaxed the proverbial hos-pitality of her house, even when she remained its sole representative.She continued to preside at her table with dignity and state, and to set an example of excessive modesty and gentle decorum to a generation of restless young women.

It is not likely that having lived a life of such irreproachable gentility as this, Miss Carew would have the bad taste to die in any way not pleasant to mention in fastidious society.She could be trusted to the last, not to outrage those friends who quoted her as an exemplar of propriety.She died very un-obtrusively of an affection of the heart, one June morning, while trimming her rose trellis, and her lavender-colored print was not even rumpled when she fell, nor were more than the tips of her little bronze slippers visible.

"Isn't it dreadful," said the Philadelphians, "that the property should go to a very, very distant cousin in Iowa or somewhere else on the frontier, about whom nobody knows any-thing at all?"

The Carew treasures were packed in boxes and sent away into the Iowa wilderness; the Carew traditions were preserved by the His-torical Society; the Carew property, standing in one of the most umbrageous and aristo-cratic suburbs of Philadelphia, was rented to all manner of folk -- anybody who had money enough to pay the rental -- and society entered its doors no more.

But at last, after twenty years, and when all save the oldest Philadelphians had forgotten Miss Lydia Carew, the very, very distant cousin appeared.He was quite in the prime of life, and so agreeable and unassuming that nothing could be urged against him save his patronymic, which, being Boggs, did not commend itself to the euphemists.With him were two maiden sisters, ladies of excellent taste and manners, who restored the Carew china to its ancient cabinets, and replaced the Carew pictures upon the walls, with ad-ditions not out of keeping with the elegance of these heirlooms.Society, with a magna-nimity almost dramatic, overlooked the name of Boggs -- and called.

All was well.At least, to an outsider all seemed to be well.But, in truth, there was a certain distress in the old mansion, and in the hearts of the well-behaved Misses Boggs.

It came about most unexpectedly.The sis-ters had been sitting upstairs, looking out at the beautiful grounds of the old place, and marvelling at the violets, which lifted their heads from every possible cranny about the house, and talking over the cordiality which they had been receiving by those upon whom they had no claim, and they were filled with amiable satisfaction.Life looked attractive.

They had often been grateful to Miss Lydia Carew for leaving their brother her fortune.

Now they felt even more grateful to her.She had left them a Social Position -- one, which even after twenty years of desuetude, was fit for use.

They descended the stairs together, with arms clasped about each other's waists, and as they did so presented a placid and pleasing sight.They entered their drawing-room with the intention of brewing a cup of tea, and drinking it in calm sociability in the twilight.

But as they entered the room they became aware of the presence of a lady, who was already seated at their tea-table, regarding their old Wedgewood with the air of a con-noisseur.

There were a number of peculiarities about this intruder.To begin with, she was hatless, quite as if she were a habitué of the house, and was costumed in a prim lilac-colored lawn of the style of two decades past.But a greater peculiarity was the resemblance this lady bore to a faded daguerrotype.If looked at one way, she was perfectly discern-ible; if looked at another, she went out in a sort of blur.Notwithstanding this compara-tive invisibility, she exhaled a delicate per-fume of sweet lavender, very pleasing to the nostrils of the Misses Boggs, who stood look-ing at her in gentle and unprotesting surprise.

"I beg your pardon," began Miss Pru-

dence, the younger of the Misses Boggs, "but --"But at this moment the Daguerrotype be-

came a blur, and Miss Prudence found her-self addressing space.The Misses Boggs were irritated.They had never encountered any mysteries in Iowa.They began an im-patient search behind doors and portières, and even under sofas, though it was quite absurd to suppose that a lady recognizing the merits of the Carew Wedgewood would so far forget herself as to crawl under a sofa.

When they had given up all hope of dis-

covering the intruder, they saw her standing at the far end of the drawing-room critically examining a water-color marine.The elder Miss Boggs started toward her with stern decision, but the little Daguerrotype turned with a shadowy smile, became a blur and an imperceptibility.

Miss Boggs looked at Miss Prudence Boggs.

"If there were ghosts," she said, "this would be one.""If there were ghosts," said Miss Prudence Boggs, "this would be the ghost of Lydia Carew."The twilight was settling into blackness, and Miss Boggs nervously lit the gas while Miss Prudence ran for other tea-cups, preferring, for reasons superfluous to mention, not to drink out of the Carew china that evening.