“You see, it happened so unfortunately,” said our hostess; “but I’m sure you will look over it, as we wanted to be all clear for Christmas-day.”
“Oh, don’t name it,” said Mrs S; “we are often later than this, for Mr S will keep such late hours, especially if he is interested in anything he is reading or writing.”
“I’m sure I need not ask if you both slept comfortably,” said our hostess, “for you both look so well.”
“Hem!” said Mrs Scribe; and I supplemented her cough with another much louder.
“Surely the bed was not damp,” exclaimed our hostess.
“Oh, no,” said Mrs S; “but—but—er—did you ever hear any particular noise about the house of a night?”
Our hostess shook her head, and then looked at me, but my face appeared so placid and happy, that she looked back at Mrs S, who was telegraphing for me to speak.
“No,” said our host, putting down his letters, “no, I don’t think we are much troubled with noises here of a night. I often thought I should like a good haunted house. But surely you heard nothing?”
“Oh, yes,” said my wife, excitedly; “but pray ask Mr S—he will explain;” and she again telegraphed for me to act as chief speaker.
“Well, what was it, Scribe?” exclaimed our host. “What did you hear?”