These dreadful creatures would prowl around everywhere; they might even penetrate the shrubbery to the foot of the stairs leading to his own retired room; they would destroy his happiness and drive him mad.
For this moody, silent youth had been strangely happy in his life at Elmhurst, despite the neglect of the grim old woman who was its mistress and the fact that no one aside from Lawyer Watson seemed to care whether he lived or died.
Perhaps Donald did.

Good old Don was friendly and seldom bothered him by talking.

Perhaps old Misery liked him a bit, also.

But these were only servants, and almost as helpless and dependent as himself.
Still, he had been happy.

He began to realize it, now that these awful girls had come to disturb his peace.