most modern houses was of a yellow tint, but that this one emanated a brown-gold radiance which was very peculiar and exceptional. Indeed, it was this singularity that had caused Mrs. Stapleton to apply for an invitation to the house. More than once during lunch, in a pause of the conversation, Maggie saw her throw back her head slightly as if to appreciate some odor or color not experienced by coarser-nerved persons. Once, indeed, she actually put this into words.
“Dear Laura was quite right,” cried the lady; “there is something very unique about this place. How fortunate you are, dear Mrs. Baxter!”
“My dear husband’s grandfather bought the place,” observed the mistress plaintively. “We have always found it very soothing and pleasant.”
“How right you are! And—and have you had any experiences here?” Mrs. Baxter eyed her in alarm. Maggie had an irrepressible burst of internal laughter, which, however, gave no hint of its presence in her steady features.