She described it to Althea: the way the rooms lay, and the passages ran, and the queer old stairs climbed up and down.
She described the ghost that she herself had seen once--her matter-of-fact acceptance of the ghost startled Althea--and the hills and moors that one looked out on from the windows.

Led by Althea's absorbed inquiries, she drifted on to detailed reminiscence--the dogs she had cared for, the flowers she had grown, and the dear red lacquer mirror that she had broken.

'Papa did die that year,' she added, after mentioning the incident.
'Surely you don't connect the two things,' said Althea, who felt some remonstrance necessary.

Miss Buchanan said no, she supposed not; it was silly to be superstitious; yet she didn't like breaking mirrors.
Her brother lived in the house now.

He had married some one she didn't much care about, though she did not enlarge on this dislike.