MRS. OTERY. Whatever it is she prowls about this cold house searching for, searching, searching. I don’t know what it is. HARRY (_grimly_). Maybe I could tell you. I dare say I could even put her in the way of finding him. MRS. OTERY. Then I wish to God you would, and let her rest. HARRY. My old dear, there are worse things than not finding what you are looking for; there is finding them so different from what you had hoped. (_He moves about._) A ghost. Oh no--and yet, and yet-- See here, I am going into that room. MRS. OTERY. As you like; I care not. HARRY. I’ll burst open the door. MRS. OTERY. No need; it’s not locked; I cheated you about that. HARRY. But I tried it and it wouldn’t open. (_MRS. OTERY is very unhappy._) You think she is in there? MRS. OTERY. She may be. HARRY (_taking a deep breath_). Give me air. (_He throws open the window and we see that it is a night of stars._) Leave me here now. I have a call to make. MRS. OTERY (_hesitating_). I dunno. You think you’re in no danger, but---- HARRY. That is how it is to be, missis. Just ten minutes you were out of the room, did you say? MRS. OTERY. That was all. HARRY. God! (_She leaves him. After a moment’s irresolution he sets off upon his quest carrying the candle, which takes with it all the light of the room. He is visible on the other side of the darkness, in the little passage and opening the door beyond. He returns, and now we see the pale ghost of MARY ROSE standing in the middle of the room, as if made out of the light he has brought back with him._) MARY ROSE (_bowing to him timidly_). Have you come to buy the house? HARRY (_more startled by his own voice than by hers_). Not me. MARY ROSE. It is a very nice house. (_Doubtfully._) Isn’t it? HARRY. It was a nice house once. MARY ROSE (_pleased_). Wasn’t it! (_Suspiciously._) Did you know this house? HARRY. When I was a young shaver. MARY ROSE. Young? Was it you who laughed? HARRY. When was that? MARY ROSE (_puzzled_). There was once some one who laughed in this house. Don’t you think laughter is a very pretty sound? HARRY (_out of his depths_). Is it? I dare say. I never thought about it. MARY ROSE. You are quite old. HARRY. I’m getting on. MARY ROSE (_confidentially_). Would you mind telling me why every one is so old? I don’t know you, do I? HARRY. I wonder. Take a look. You might have seen me in the old days--playing about--outside in the garden--or even inside. MARY ROSE. You--you are not Simon, are you? HARRY. No. (_Venturing._) My name is Harry. MARY ROSE (_stiffening_). I don’t think so. I strongly object to your saying that. HARRY. I’m a queer sort of cove, and I would like to hear you call me Harry. MARY ROSE (_firmly_). I decline. I regret, but I absolutely decline. HARRY. No offence. MARY ROSE. I think you are sorry for me. HARRY. I am that. MARY ROSE. I am sorry for me, too.