‘Is Mr Braggett here? I am Mrs Braggett. Please show me in to him immediately.’
They glanced at the ground-glass doors of the inner office. They had already closed behind the manly form of their employer.
‘This way, madam,’ one said, deferentially, as he escorted her to the presence of Mr Braggett.
Meanwhile, Sigismund had opened the portals of the Temple of Mystery, and with trembling knees entered it. The figure in the chair did not stir at his approach. He stood at the door irresolute. What should he do or say?
‘Charlotte,’ he whispered.
Still she did not move.
At that moment his wife entered.
‘Oh, Sigismund!’ cried Mrs Emily, reproachfully, ‘I knew you were keeping something from me, and now I’ve caught you in the very act. Who is this lady, and what is her name? I shall refuse to leave the room until I know it.’
At the sound of her rival’s voice, the woman in the chair rose quickly to her feet and confronted them. Yes! there was Charlotte Cray, precisely similar to what she had appeared in life, only with an uncertainty and vagueness about the lines of the familiar features that made them ghastly.
She stood there, looking Mrs Emily full in the face, but only for a moment, for, even as she gazed, the lineaments grew less and less distinct, with the shape of the figure that supported them, until, with a crash, the apparition seemed to fall in and disappear, and the place that had known her was filled with empty air.