“Mrs. Hartley, disregarding the pleading look from her husband, was about to expostulate; like the majority of modern mothers, her tender—might I add unsound—sensibilities could not bear to see her offspring treated in any but the most deferential manner.
“The Rev. Silas, however, forestalled her. With a wave of his hand that was as eloquent as it was peremptory he completely took the wind out of her sails, and before she had time to recover from her surprise he had commenced:
“‘For Heaven’s sake, Mrs. Hartley!’ he said in a semi-whisper, leaning forward in such a manner as emphasised the mysterious air he had suddenly assumed, ‘for Heaven’s sake! leave this house as quickly as you can!’
“‘There now, Arthur!’ Mrs. Hartley exclaimed, the angry expression in her eyes being replaced by a mixture of triumph and curiosity—‘There now! didn’t I tell you all along something was wrong with the place?’
“‘Drains, I suppose!’ her husband said mournfully, ‘drains or rats!—and I do hate moving.’
“‘Neither one nor the other!’ the Rev. Silas whispered. ‘No! the house is haunted.’
“At this announcement Mrs. Hartley gave a slight ejaculation of terror—an ejaculation which, reduced to its constituent parts, might be found to consist of affectation, fear, and no small amount of pleasure, the latter engendered by the glamour of something both ENIGMATICAL and FASHIONABLE.
“‘What’s it haunted by? Teapots?’ Mr. Hartley muttered with a contemptuous movement of his mouth. ‘If it’s not haunted by teapots now, it will be some day, for that new maid of yours, my dear, is always breaking them. She has smashed two since yesterday, and if you examine this one closely you will observe that the spout is already chipped.’
“Mrs. Hartley puckered her dainty brows into the most alarming frown.
“‘Really, Arthur! how mundane you are,’ she remarked loftily; then, turning to Mr. Wetherby, ‘My husband is, as you see, one of those solid individuals who believes in nothing till he sees it.’