were…” “Archaeologists,” supplied Alice. “That’s right. People said it was wrong to disturb the dead. They’re gone and they’re in peace and they don’t want other people digging up their graves and their homes. They say they leave a curse that if someone disturbs them they will have their revenge. Do you believe that, Mrs. Verlaine?” “No, it’s a superstition. If the Romans built beautiful houses I believe they would want us to know how clever they had been, how advanced.” “Did you know,” said Alice quickly, “that they kept their houses warm by means of pipes full of hot water? The young lady who died told us. She was pleased if we asked questions about the remains.” “Alice always tries to please everyone,” said Allegra. “It’s because she’s the housekeeper’s daughter and feels she has to.” I raised my eyebrows at this rudeness and looked at Alice in a manner which I hoped conveyed to her that I meant to make no distinctions. “So to please this…archaeologist, you pretended to be interested?” I suggested. “But we were interested,” said Alice, “and Miss Brandon told us a great deal about the Romans who used to live here. But when she heard about the curse she was frightened and—then it overtook her.” “Did she tell you she was frightened?” “I think that’s what she meant. She said: ‘We are after all meddling with the dead. So it’s not surprising there is this curse.’” “She meant that it was not surprising there was a rumor about the curse.” “Perhaps she believed it,” suggested Allegra. “It’s like having faith. People in the Bible were cured because they had faith. So perhaps it works the other way and Miss Brandon disappeared because she had faith.” “So you think that if she hadn’t believed in the curse she would not have disappeared?” I asked. There was silence in the schoolroom. Then Alice said: “Perhaps I thought afterwards that she was frightened. It’s easy to imagine things like that when something’s happened.” Alice was evidently a wise young girl in spite of her humility—or perhaps because of it. I could well imagine how Allegra treated her when they were alone. I expected that hers was a life of countless humiliations—the poor relation who is given a roof over her head and outwardly similar privileges in return for doing light but menial tasks and accepting slights from those who believed themselves to be her superiors. I warmed toward Alice and imagined she did toward me. “Alice is full of imagination,” scoffed Allegra. “Parson Rendall says so every time she writes an essay.” Alice blushed and I said: “That’s very creditable.” I smiled at the young girl. “I am really looking forward to teaching you the piano.” The footman came to announce that my bags had arrived and were in the yellow room which had been made ready for me. I thanked him and Alice said at once: “Would you like me to take you there now, Mrs. Verlaine?” I admitted that would be pleasant. She rose and the others watched her and I decided that showing people to their rooms was a task for the higher servants, the class to which Alice belonged. She said politely: “Allow me to lead the way, Mrs. Verlaine”; and began to mount the staircase. “This place has been your home for a long time,” I said conversationally. “I have never really known another home. Mother came back here when I was about two.” “It’s certainly impressive.” Alice laid her hand on the banister and looked down at the carved figures there. “It’s a lovely old house, isn’t it, Mrs. Verlaine? I should never want to go away from it.” “Perhaps you will change your mind when you get older. Perhaps you will marry someone and that will be more important to you than staying here.” She turned to look down at me in a startled way. “I expect I shall stay here and be a sort of companion to Edith.” She sighed and turning