"What an absurdity," he said easily. "Such a to-do about a
shadow."
"That's so," assented Mrs. Brigham, in a scared voice which she
tried to make natural. As she spoke she lifted a chair near her.
"I think you have broken the chair that Edward was so fond of,"
said Caroline.
Terror and wrath were struggling for expression on her face. Her
mouth was set, her eyes shrinking. Henry lifted the chair with a
show of anxiety.
"Just as good as ever," he said pleasantly. He laughed again,
looking at his sisters. "Did I scare you?" he said. "I should
think you might be used to me by this time. You know my way of
wanting to leap to the bottom of a mystery, and that shadow does
look--queer, like--and I thought if there was any way of accounting
for it I would like to without any delay."
"You don't seem to have succeeded," remarked Caroline dryly, with a
slight glance at the wall.
Henry's eyes followed hers and he quivered perceptibly.
"Oh, there is no accounting for shadows," he said, and he laughed
again. "A man is a fool to try to account for shadows."
Then the supper bell rang, and they all left the room, but Henry
kept his back to the wall, as did, indeed, the others.
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