“No. Anything of what nature?”
“Anything ghostified?” she snapped, sitting with her chin on her palm, her face poked forward close to David’s, while the sleeve fell away from her thin forearm. She had decided that he was an interesting young man.
“I have seen no ghost,” he said. “I don’t believe I ever shall see one.”
“There are ghosts,” she said; “so it’s no good saying there are not, for my old Granny Price has been chased by one, and there’s been a ghost in that very flat. My servant Jenny saw it with her own eyes.”
“It is always some one else’s eyes which see the invisible,” said David.
“Jenny’s eyes are not some one else’s, they are her own. She saw it, I tell you, but perhaps you are one of those people who cower under the sheets all night for fright, and in the daytime swear that there are no ghosts.”
“What? You know so much of me already?”
“Oh, I know my man the moment I lay eyes on him, as a rule. You’re from Australia—I can tell your twang—and you have come to England to look for a wife. Can’t very well get along without us, after all, can you?”
“There is some truth in that. What a pity you didn’t see the ghost yourself!”