Dr.Howe generally found that most things were "just as well." Indeed, he had been heard to say that, with a good digestion, any sorrow showed itself to have been best inside three years.

Perhaps he had forgotten for the moment that he was a widower; but at all events, he said it.
So he blew his logs to a brighter blaze, and drank the rest of his mulled wine, stirring it round and round for the nutmeg and spice, and said to himself, listening to the beat of the rain as he pulled Max's silky ears, that it was the worst June storm he remembered.

Perhaps that was why he did not hear the front door open and close with a bang against the gust which tried to force its way into the house, blowing out the hall lights, and sending a dash of rain into Sally's face.
"Lord!" cried Sally, with a shrill scream, "it's Miss Helen's ghost!" The face she saw was ghost-like indeed.

It was wet and streaming with rain, and the dark eyes were strange and unseeing.
"Do not tell Miss Lois I am here," the pale lips said.

"Where is my uncle?
I must see him." Sally could only point speechlessly to the library door.