"Has she really?"
"Yes. And poor Mrs. Whitaker, too."
"Mrs. Whitaker? You don't say so."
"Yes, indeed. Mrs. Whitaker has them. And she feels it badly."
"I will run over to see her," said the sympathetic Mrs. Mulholland. "I am so fond of the dear soul."
But that very afternoon Mrs. Whitaker herself called on Mrs. Mulholland, at Park House.
"How do you do, my poor dear Theresa?" began Mrs. Mulholland, taking Mrs. Whitaker's hand and pressing it. "I hear——"
"Yes, yes," said Mrs. Whitaker rather fretfully, drawing her hand away. "Of course you have heard that I have them." There was a brief silence. "I must confess I did not expect quite such dreary ones."
"Dreary, are they?" exclaimed Mrs. Mulholland. "Is that all?"
"It's bad enough," sighed Mrs. Whitaker. "You have no idea what they are like. Three creatures that look as if they had stepped out of a nightmare."