“Is there anything more?” I inquired tremulously.
“Yes; sometimes at night, the most terrible weeping and sobbing in my bedroom;” and she shuddered at the mere recollection.
“Do the servants know?” I asked anxiously.
“The ayah Mumà has heard it, and the khánsámáh says his mother is sick, and he must go, and the bearer wants to attend his brother’s wedding. They will all leave.”
“I suppose most people know too?” I suggested dejectedly.
“Yes; don’t you remember Mrs. Starkey’s warnings, and her saying that without the verandah the house was worth double rent? We understand that dark speech of hers now, and we have not come to Cooper’s Hotel yet.”
“No, not yet. I wish we had. I wonder what Tom will say? He will be here in another fortnight. Oh, I wish he was here now!”
In spite of our heart-shaking experience, we managed to eat, and drink, and sleep, yea, to play tennis—somewhat solemnly, it is true—and go to the club, where we remained to the very last moment; needless to mention, that I now entered into Aggie’s manœuvre con amore. Mrs. Starkey evidently divined the reason of our loitering in Kantia, and said in her most truculent manner, as she squared up to us—
“You keep your children out very late, Mrs. Shandon.”
“Yes, but we like to have them with us,” rejoined Aggie, in a meek apologetic voice.