“Not even to oblige you, dear Liz, can I break off my agreement, and I have really set my heart on your bête noire. I am so, so sorry,” and she came over and caressed me.
I wonder if Netta in her secret heart suspected that I, the Colonel’s wife, might be a little jealous that the new arrival had secured a far more impressive looking abode than her own, and for this mean reason I endeavoured to persuade her to “move on.”
However, her mind must have been entirely disabused of this by a lady on whom we were calling, who said:
“Oh, Mrs. Fellowes, have you got a house yet, or will you wait for the Watsons’? Such a——”
“I am already suited,” interrupted Netta. “We have found just the thing—not far from my cousin’s, too—a fine, roomy, cheerful place, with a huge compound; we are already making the garden.”
“Roomy—large compound; near Mrs. Drummond,” she repeated with knitted brow. “No—oh, surely you do not mean the Red Bungalow?”
“Yes, that is its name; I am charmed with it, and so lucky to find it.”
“No difficulty in finding it, dear Mrs. Fellowes, but I believe the difficulty is in remaining there.”
“Do you mean that it’s haunted?” enquired Netta with a rather superior air.
“Something of that sort—the natives call it ‘the devil’s house.’ A terrible tragedy happened there long ago—so long ago that it is forgotten; but you will find it almost impossible to keep servants!”