He had made himself master of the layout of the house, that was plain. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. Moreover, he's a Yale University man, and he'd be good company. The entrance was barred against them; and they had the additional mortification of hearing Sheppard's loud laughter at their discomfiture. Once more he was the searcher. They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. Also she remembered very vividly the smell of orange blossom, and Alice, drooping and spiritless, mumbling responses, facing Doctor Ralph, while the Rev. “It is so difficult,” she murmured, “so impossible to explain.
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