If she has a distaste for it, it may possibly relate to the occupancy of the house by the Riggs woman before Uncle Horace bought it. But even here I am doubtful, for Mrs. Riggs was caught in most unblushing fraud and entirely discredited as a medium.
Edith is back. She came in this morning, kissed Jock, Jane and myself, Jock first, demanded an enormous breakfast and all the hot water in the house, and descended gaily a half hour later to the table, in her usual aura of bath salts, bath powder and sunshine.
“Well,” she said, attacking her melon, “and when do we go to the haunted house?”
“Ask your Aunt.”
She glanced at me and then shrewdly at Jane.
“Good heavens!” she said. “Don’t tell me there’s any question about it?”
“It isn’t decided yet,” Jane said uneasily. “It’s a big house, Edi
