to quarrel with a capital chance. She was familiar at Paramore, and she felt safe; therefore she might trust herself to the amusement of pretending that she had her option. But it was all innocent coquetry. She had a curious charm, and it was vain to pretend that the heir of that house wouldn't seem good enough to a girl, clever as she might be, of eighteen. Mrs. Coyle reminded her husband that the poor young man was precisely now not of that house; this problem was among the questions that exercised their wits after the two men had taken the turn on the terrace. Spencer Coyle told his wife that Owen was afraid of the portrait of his great-great-grandfather. He would show it to her, since she hadn't noticed it, on their way down-stairs.
"Why of his great-great-grandfather more than of any of the others?"
"Oh, because he's the most formidable. He's the one who's sometimes seen."
"Seen where?" Mrs. Coyle had turned round with a jerk.
"In the room he was found dead in—the White Room they've always called it."
