She made the observation that Monica must be an object of unusual interest at the Glenkill school: being one of no more than a half-dozen women, and certainly the youngest and most attractive, teaching at an all-boys school.

She apologized for having been so dogmatic about riding lessons: of course women Monica’s age, and older, did take lessons: and no doubt enjoyed them thoroughly. So if Monica was sincerely interested and wanted to know the names of some reliable riding instructors in the area . . .

They might even go out riding together sometime, she said. (But in a vague trailing voice that carried with it very little conviction.)

She shifted back to the subject of the Dorrs, the house’s previous owners. She and her husband had known them slightly, hadn’t entirely approved of them—they were summer people primarily, connected with the Olcottsville Playhouse, histrionic, hard drinkers, dilettantes, rather gaudy and glamorous, famous for telling cruel but uproarious stories about people behind their backs. But there was nothing significant to tell Monica about them. They were cruel and careless and shallow—all surfaces. The only “event” connected with their tenancy of the house—if Sheila remembered correctly—was a shooting accident. Mrs. Dorr had snatched up a revolver and fired several shots at a bird—a starling, most likely—that had blundered down through the chimney and was flying panicked through the house, but of course the shots went wild, she nicked her husband in the ear, broke a windowpane or two, of course the idiotic woman was drunk, both the Dorrs were drunk, as it turned out. “It’s the kind of malicious tale they liked to invent about other people,” Sheila said. She was edging toward the door; clearly it was time to leave. She lifted her eyes—bright, suddenly smiling—to Monica’s face. “At least you can’t be haunted by them,” she said. “They weren’t evil or profound. And as far as I know they’re still living—in Europe, I think.”

As they walked out Monica expressed some humorous disappointment that the house had been owned by such people. She had had a romantic idea that . . . she didn’t entirely know what. . . . The house, the old barns, the countryside . . .

Sheila pointed out that the Dorrs were very recent, scarcely worth mentioning, in fact: the house had probably been built just after the Civil War and had been lived in by a great many people. If it was “haunted” Monica hoped to be . . .

Monica protested that she didn’t hope to be “haunted”: she wasn’t that sort. Only inspired, perhaps. Drawn a bit out of herself and her own time. Her own history.

Sheila observed that Monica didn’t have the appearance of a superstitious person in any case. Blond, healthy, forthright. A daylight personality.