A Grammatical Ghost

by Elia W. Peattie

　　THERE was only one possible objectionto the drawing-room, andthat was the occasional presenceof Miss Carew; and only one possibleobjection to Miss Carew. And that was,that she was dead.She had been dead twenty years, as a matterof fact and record, and to the last of her lifesacredly preserved the treasures and traditionsof her family, a family bound up -- as it isquite unnecessary to explain to any one ingood society -- with all that is most venerableand heroic in the history of the Republic.Miss Carew never relaxed the proverbial hospitalityof her house, even when she remainedits sole representative. She continued topreside at her table with dignity and state,and to set an example of excessive modestyand gentle decorum to a generation of restlessyoung women.It is not likely that having lived a life ofsuch irreproachable gentility as this, MissCarew would have the bad taste to die in anyway not pleasant to mention in fastidioussociety. She could be trusted to the last, notto outrage those friends who quoted her asan exemplar of propriety. She died very unobtrusivelyof an affection of the heart, oneJune morning, while trimming her rose trellis,and her lavender-colored print was not evenrumpled when she fell, nor were more thanthe tips of her little bronze slippers visible."Isn't it dreadful," said the Philadelphians,"that the property should go to a very, verydistant cousin in Iowa or somewhere else onthe frontier, about whom nobody knows anythingat all?"The Carew treasures were packed in boxesand sent away into the Iowa wilderness; theCarew traditions were preserved by the HistoricalSociety; the Carew property, standingin one of the most umbrageous and aristocraticsuburbs of Philadelphia, was rented toall manner of folk -- anybody who had moneyenough to pay the rental -- and society enteredits doors no more.But at last, after twenty years, and when allsave the oldest Philadelphians had forgottenMiss Lydia Carew, the very, very distantcousin appeared. He was quite in the primeof life, and so agreeable and unassuming thatnothing could be urged against him save hispatronymic, which, being Boggs, did notcommend itself to the euphemists. With himwere two maiden sisters, ladies of excellenttaste and manners, who restored the Carewchina to its ancient cabinets, and replacedthe Carew pictures upon the walls, with additionsnot out of keeping with the eleganceof these heirlooms. Society, with a magnanimityalmost dramatic, overlooked the nameof Boggs -- and called.All was well. At least, to an outsider allseemed to be well. But, in truth, there wasa certain distress in the old mansion, and inthe hearts of the well-behaved Misses Boggs.It came about most unexpectedly. The sistershad been sitting upstairs, looking out atthe beautiful grounds of the old place, andmarvelling at the violets, which lifted theirheads from every possible cranny about thehouse, and talking over the cordiality whichthey had been receiving by those upon whomthey had no claim, and they were filled withamiable satisfaction. Life looked attractive.They had often been grateful to Miss LydiaCarew for leaving their brother her fortune.Now they felt even more grateful to her. Shehad left them a Social Position -- one, whicheven after twenty years of desuetude, was fitfor use.They descended the stairs together, witharms clasped about each other's waists, and asthey did so presented a placid and pleasingsight. They entered their drawing-room withthe intention of brewing a cup of tea, anddrinking it in calm sociability in the twilight.But as they entered the room they becameaware of the presence of a lady, who wasalready seated at their tea-table, regardingtheir old Wedgewood with the air of a connoisseur.There were a number of peculiarities aboutthis intruder. To begin with, she was hatless,quite as if she were a habitué of the house,and was costumed in a prim lilac-coloredlawn of the style of two decades past. Buta greater peculiarity was the resemblancethis lady bore to a faded daguerrotype. Iflooked at one way, she was perfectly discernible;if looked at another, she went out in asort of blur. Notwithstanding this comparativeinvisibility, she exhaled a delicate perfumeof sweet lavender, very pleasing to thenostrils of the Misses Boggs, who stood lookingat her in gentle and unprotesting surprise."I beg your pardon," began Miss Prudence,the younger of the Misses Boggs,"but --"But at this moment the Daguerrotype becamea blur, and Miss Prudence found herselfaddressing space. The Misses Boggswere irritated. They had never encounteredany mysteries in Iowa. They began an impatientsearch behind doors and portières,and even under sofas, though it was quiteabsurd to suppose that a lady recognizingthe merits of the Carew Wedgewood wouldso far forget herself as to crawl under asofa.When they had given up all hope of discoveringthe intruder, they saw her standingat the far end of the drawing-room criticallyexamining a water-color marine. The elderMiss Boggs started toward her with sterndecision, but the little Daguerrotype turnedwith a shadowy smile, became a blur and animperceptibility.Miss Boggs looked at Miss Prudence Boggs."If there were ghosts," she said, "thiswould be one.""If there were ghosts," said Miss PrudenceBoggs, "this would be the ghost of LydiaCarew."The twilight was settling into blackness, andMiss Boggs nervously lit the gas while MissPrudence ran for other tea-cups, preferring,for reasons superfluous to mention, not todrink out of the Carew china that evening.The next day, on taking up her embroideryframe, Miss Boggs found a number of oldfashionedcross-stitches added to her Kensington.Prudence, she knew, would neverhave degraded herself by taking a cross-stitch,and the parlor-maid was above taking such aliberty. Miss Boggs mentioned the incidentthat night at a dinner given by an ancientfriend of the Carews."Oh, that's the work of Lydia Carew, withouta doubt!" cried the hostess. "She visitsevery new family that moves to the house, butshe never remains more than a week or twowith any one.""It must be that she disapproves of them,"suggested Miss Boggs."I think that's it," said the hostess. "Shedoesn't like their china, or their fiction.""I hope she'll disapprove of us," addedMiss Prudence.The hostess belonged to a very old Philadelphianfamily, and she shook her head."I should say it was a compliment for eventhe ghost of Miss Lydia Carew to approve ofone," she said severely.The next morning, when the sisters enteredtheir drawing-room there were numerous evidencesof an occupant during their absence.The sofa pillows had been rearranged so thatthe effect of their grouping was less bizarrethan that favored by the Western women; ahorrid little Buddhist idol with its eyes fixedon its abdomen, had been chastely hiddenbehind a Dresden shepherdess, as unfit forthe scrutiny of polite eyes; and on the tablewhere Miss Prudence did work in water colors,after the fashion of the impressionists, lay aprim and impossible composition representinga moss-rose and a number of heartsease, coloredwith that caution which modest spinsterartists instinctively exercise."Oh, there's no doubt it's the work of MissLydia Carew," said Miss Prudence, contemptuously.There's no mistaking the drawing ofthat rigid little rose. Don't you rememberthose wreaths and bouquets framed, among thepictures we got when the Carew pictures weresent to us? I gave some of them to an orphanasylum and burned up the rest.""Hush!" cried Miss Boggs, involuntarily."If she heard you, it would hurt her feelingsterribly. Of course, I mean --" and sheblushed. "It might hurt her feelings --but how perfectly ridiculous! It's impossible!"Miss Prudence held up the sketch of themoss-rose."THAT may be impossible in an artisticsense, but it is a palpable thing.""Bosh!" cried Miss Boggs."But," protested Miss Prudence, "how doyou explain it?""I don't," said Miss Boggs, and left theroom.That evening the sisters made a point ofbeing in the drawing-room before the duskcame on, and of lighting the gas at the firsthint of twilight. They didn't believe in MissLydia Carew -- but still they meant to bebeforehand with her. They talked with unwontedvivacity and in a louder tone than wastheir custom. But as they drank their teaeven their utmost verbosity could not makethem oblivious to the fact that the perfume ofsweet lavender was stealing insidiously throughthe room. They tacitly refused to recognizethis odor and all that it indicated, when suddenly,with a sharp crash, one of the oldCarew tea-cups fell from the tea-table to thefloor and was broken. The disaster was followedby what sounded like a sigh of pain anddismay."I didn't suppose Miss Lydia Carew wouldever be as awkward as that," cried the youngerMiss Boggs, petulantly."Prudence," said her sister with a sternaccent, "please try not to be a fool. Youbrushed the cup off with the sleeve of yourdress.""Your theory wouldn't be so bad," said MissPrudence, half laughing and half crying, "ifthere were any sleeves to my dress, but, as yousee, there aren't," and then Miss Prudencehad something as near hysterics as a healthyyoung woman from the West can have."I wouldn't think such a perfect lady asLydia Carew," she ejaculated between hersobs, "would make herself so disagreeable!You may talk about good-breeding all youplease, but I call such intrusion exceedinglybad taste. I have a horrible idea that shelikes us and means to stay with us. She leftthose other people because she did not approveof their habits or their grammar. It would bejust our luck to please her.""Well, I like your egotism," said MissBoggs.However, the view Miss Prudence took ofthe case appeared to be the right one. Timewent by and Miss Lydia Carew still remained.When the ladies entered their drawing-roomthey would see the little lady-like Daguerrotyperevolving itself into a blur before one ofthe family portraits. Or they noticed thatthe yellow sofa cushion, toward which sheappeared to feel a peculiar antipathy, hadbeen dropped behind the sofa upon the floor,or that one of Jane Austen's novels, whichnone of the family ever read, had been removedfrom the book shelves and left openupon the table."I cannot become reconciled to it," complainedMiss Boggs to Miss Prudence. "Iwish we had remained in Iowa where webelong. Of course I don't believe in thething! No sensible person would. But stillI cannot become reconciled."But their liberation was to come, and in amost unexpected manner.A relative by marriage visited them fromthe West. He was a friendly man and hadmuch to say, so he talked all through dinner,and afterward followed the ladies to the drawingroom to finish his gossip. The gas in theroom was turned very low, and as they enteredMiss Prudence caught sight of Miss Carew, incompany attire, sitting in upright proprietyin a stiff-backed chair at the extremity of theapartment.Miss Prudence had a sudden idea."We will not turn up the gas," she said,with an emphasis intended to convey privateinformation to her sister. "It will be moreagreeable to sit here and talk in this softlight."Neither her brother nor the man from theWest made any objection. Miss Boggs andMiss Prudence, clasping each other's hands,divided their attention between their corporealand their incorporeal guests. Miss Boggs wasconfident that her sister had an idea, and waswilling to await its development. As the guestfrom Iowa spoke, Miss Carew bent a politelyattentive ear to what he said."Ever since Richards took sick that time,"he said briskly, "it seemed like he shed allresponsibility." (The Misses Boggs saw theDaguerrotype put up her shadowy head witha movement of doubt and apprehension.)"The fact of the matter was, Richards didn'tseem to scarcely get on the way he might havebeen expected to." (At this consciencelesssplit to the infinitive and misplacing of thepreposition, Miss Carew arose trembling perceptibly.)I saw it wasn't no use for him tocount on a quick recovery --"The Misses Boggs lost the rest of the sentence,for at the utterance of the double negativeMiss Lydia Carew had flashed out, not ina blur, but with mortal haste, as when lifegoes out at a pistol shot!The man from the West wondered why MissPrudence should have cried at so pathetic apart of his story:"Thank Goodness!"And their brother was amazed to see Miss Boggskiss Miss Prudence with passion and energy.It was the end. Miss Carew returned no more.