“Yes, it is of great use; and, as it happens it would be of no particular use in any other way; for we have as many rooms as we want, and two or three for visitors--which is as much as anybody could desire in London. Of course it is a different thing in a country house. How is it that you have formed such a very clear idea of the wing, Janet? Many people never find it out.” “I suppose,” said Janet, “because I have been walking so much in the garden lately, and one goes all the round of the house, and one speculates----” “On what, I should like to know?” cried Mrs. Harwood, sitting bolt upright in her chair. “Oh, nothing; only on the shape of the house, and what a nice corner it seems, and so much sun. Perhaps I was so bold as to think it would make a nice school-room,” said Janet, with a little laugh, “and so shut off from the rest of the house.” “Oh, if that is all!” said Mrs. Harwood. She resumed, after a moment, “I would not advise it for that use. Of course I don’t myself believe in anything of the kind, but there are curious stories about it, about things that have been heard--and seen too, I believe. The last people who lived here were very queer people. I can’t tell you all that was said of them. The door of communication used to be open, but the servants in a body begged that it might be shut up. You have noticed, perhaps, that it is quite done away with.” “Is it built up?” asked Janet, with great innocence. “Built up? oh, no, that’s a strong step to take. After us there might come somebody who would want to use it, and building up is a strong step. But it’s almost the same--it is fastened up very effectually, so that no one can either come or go--not even,” said Mrs. Harwood, with an abrupt laugh, “a ghost.” “But Vicars,” said Janet, pursuing the investigation, “can go out and in, I suppose?” “Vicars?” cried Mrs. Harwood. “What do you suppose he has to do with it? Oh, I know now. You have heard that he lives on the ground-floor. So he does; but his rooms open from outside, as you may have seen. You must keep your eyes very well about you, Janet, to have found out all that.” “No,” said Janet; “I only can’t help seeing things--that is, some things. And, to tell the truth, I have heard once or twice a curious noise which has frightened me very much. And I never had heard any of the stories, so it was all the more strange.” Mrs. Harwood looked at her for a few moments with a fixed look; veiling her face, however, by means of the cup of tea which she had raised to her lips. Then she relapsed again into a laugh. “You must not take such foolish fancies into your head, my dear. _I_ don’t believe in anything of the kind. You may be sure there is some quite simple explanation of it--the wind in a chimney, or some other trick of acoustics, as they call it. You are far too sensible to believe in ghosts or mysterious noises. There is Dolff, I think, at the door.”