“What is it, dearie?”
The girl reached out for her aunt’s hand.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she groaned, “there seemed to be something—”
“A Thing?” interrupted Aunt Philomela.
“An uncanny thing.”
Aunt Philomela recovered her spirit.
“You don’t mean to tell me that Mr. Barnes—”
“Barnes?” interrupted the girl as though the name offered some vague explanation.
“Has he been filling your head full of that nonsense as he did John’s?”
The girl smiled. The room seemed instantly as full of fresh air as though a window had been opened.