for child, almost, she seemed to be: I guessed her at scarcely over twenty——all was the innocent frankness of some angelic visitant, new to the ways of earth and the conventionalisms——or, if you will, the barbarisms——of Society. "Even so," I mused, "will Sylvie look and speak, in another ten years."
"You don't care for Ghosts, then," I ventured to suggest, unless they are really terrifying?"
"Quite so," the lady assented. "The regular Railway-Ghosts——I mean the Ghosts of ordinary Railway-literature——are very poor affairs. I feel inclined to say, with Alexander Selkirk, 'Their tameness is shocking to me'! And they never do any Midnight Murders. They couldn't 'welter in gore,' to save their lives!"
"'Weltering in gore' is a very expressive phrase, certainly. Can it be done in any fluid, I wonder?"
"I think not," the lady readily replied——quite as if she had thought it out, long ago. "It has to be something thick. For instance, you might welter in bread-sauce. That, being white, would be more suitable for a Ghost, supposing it wished to welter!"
