HARRY. Since you are so pressing I accept.
MRS. OTERY. Come down then to the kitchen.
HARRY. No, no, I’m sure the Prodigal got his tea in the drawing-room, though what made them make such a fuss about that man beats me.
MRS. OTERY (sullenly). You are meaning to go into that room. I wouldn’t if I was you.
HARRY. If you were me you would.
MRS. OTERY (closing the little door). Until I have your promise——
HARRY (liking the tenacity of her). Very well, I promise—unless, of course, she comes peeping out at the handsome gentleman. Your ghost has naught to do wi’ me. It’s a woman, isn’t it?
(Her silence is perhaps an assent.)
See here, I’ll sit in this chair till you come back, saying my prayers. (Feeling the chair.) You’re clammy cold, old dear. It’s not the ghost’s chair by any chance, is it?
(No answer.)