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〃I have seed her kiss her hand to that picture；〃 said the maid。
Fancy Mary kissing her hand to me！ Oh； the pretty love！
Pooh！
I was staring at the picture； cogitating what insulting message I
could write on it； when I heard the woman's voice again。 〃I
think she has known him since she were a babby；〃 she was saying；
〃for this here was a present he give her。〃
She was on her knees drawing the doll's house from beneath the
sofa； where it had been hidden away； and immediately I thought；
〃I shall slip the insulting message into this。〃 But I did not；
and I shall tell you why。 It was because the engaging toy had
been redecorated by loving hands； there were fresh gowns for all
the inhabitants； and the paint on the furniture was scarcely dry。
The little doll's house was almost ready for further use。
I looked at the maid； but her face was expressionless。 〃Put it
back；〃 I said； ashamed to have surprised Mary's pretty secret；
and I left the house dejectedly； with a profound conviction that
the little nursery governess had hooked on to me again。
IV
A Night…Piece
There came a night when the husband was alone in that street
waiting。 He can do nothing for you now； little nursery
governess； you must fight it out by yourself； when there are
great things to do in the house the man must leave。 Oh； man；
selfish； indelicate； coarse…grained at the best； thy woman's hour
has come； get thee gone。
He slouches from the house； always her true lover I do believe；
chivalrous； brave； a boy until to…night； but was he ever unkind
to her？ It is the unpardonable sin now； is there the memory of
an unkindness to stalk the street with him to…night？ And if not
an unkindness； still might he not sometimes have been a little
kinder？
Shall we make a new rule of life from tonight： always to try to
be a little kinder than is necessary？
Poor youth； she would come to the window if she were able； I am
sure； to sign that the one little unkindness is long forgotten；
to send you a reassuring smile till you and she meet again； and；
if you are not to meet again； still to send you a reassuring；
trembling smile。
Ah； no； that was for yesterday； it is too late now。 He wanders
the streets thinking of her tonight； but she has forgotten him。
In her great hour the man is nothing to the woman； their love is
trivial now。
He and I were on opposite sides of the street； now become
familiar ground to both of us； and divers pictures rose before me
in which Mary A walked。 Here was the morning after my only
entry into her house。 The agent had promised me to have the
obnoxious notice…board removed； but I apprehended that as soon as
the letter announcing his intention reached her she would remove
it herself； and when I passed by in the morning there she was on
a chair and a foot…stool pounding lustily at it with a hammer。
When it fell she gave it such a vicious little kick。
There were the nights when her husband came out to watch for the
postman。 I suppose he was awaiting some letter big with the fate
of a picture。 He dogged the postman from door to door like an
assassin or a guardian angel； never had he the courage to ask if
there was a letter for him； but almost as it fell into the box he
had it out and tore it open； and then if the door closed
despairingly the woman who had been at the window all this time
pressed her hand to her heart。 But if the news was good they
might emerge presently and strut off arm in arm in the direction
of the pork emporium。
One last picture。 On summer evenings I had caught glimpses of
them through the open window； when she sat at the piano singing
and playing to him。 Or while she played with one hand； she flung
out the other for him to grasp。 She was so joyously happy； and
she had such a romantic mind。 I conceived her so sympathetic
that she always laughed before he came to the joke； and I am sure
she had filmy eyes from the very start of a pathetic story。
And so； laughing and crying； and haunted by whispers； the little
nursery governess had gradually become another woman； glorified；
mysterious。 I suppose a man soon becomes used to the great
change； and cannot recall a time when there were no babes
sprawling in his Mary's face。
I am trying to conceive what were the thoughts of the young
husband on the other side of the street。 〃If the barrier is to
be crossed to…night may I not go with her？ She is not so brave
as you think her。 When she talked so gaily a few hours ago； O my
God； did she deceive even you？〃
Plain questions to…night。 〃Why should it all fall on her？ What
is the man that he should be flung out into the street in this
terrible hour？ You have not been fair to the man。〃
Poor boy； his wife has quite forgotten him and his trumpery love。
If she lives she will come back to him； but if she dies she will
die triumphant and serene。 Life and death； the child and the
mother； are ever meeting as the one draws into harbour and the
other sets sail。 They exchange a bright 〃All's well〃 and pass
on。
But afterward？
The only ghosts； I believe； who creep into this world； are dead
young mothers； returned to see how their children fare。 There is
no other inducement great enough to bring the departed back。
They glide into the acquainted room when day and night； their
jailers； are in the grip； and whisper； 〃How is it with you； my
child？〃 but always； lest a strange face should frighten him； they
whisper it so low that he may not hear。 They bend over him to
see that he sleeps peacefully； and replace his sweet arm beneath
the coverlet； and they open the drawers to count how many little
vests he has。 They love to do these things。
What is saddest about ghosts is that they may not know their
child。 They expect him to be just as he was when they left him；
and they are easily bewildered； and search for him from room to
room； and hate the unknown boy he has become。 Poor； passionate
souls； they may even do him an injury。 These are the ghosts that
go wailing about old houses； and foolish wild stories are
invented to explain what is all so pathetic and simple。 I know
of a man who； after wandering far； returned to his early home to
pass the evening of his days in it； and sometimes from his chair
by the fire he saw the door open softly and a woman's face
appear。 She always looked at him very vindictively； and then
vanished。 Strange things happened in this house。 Windows were
opened in the night。 The curtains of his bed were set fire to。
A step on the stair was loosened。 The covering of an old well in
a corridor where he walked was cunningly removed。 And when he
fell ill the wrong potion was put in the glass by his bedside；
and he died。 How could the pretty young mother know that this
grizzled interloper was the child of whom she was in search？
All our notions about ghosts are wrong。 It is nothing so petty
a