There was a breathless silence. The eyes of the members of the Society for the Encouragement of Higher Thought almost fell through their horn-rimmed spectacles on to the floor.
“Haunted!” they screamed in chorus, and little Miss Simky clung to her neighbour in terror.
“Listen!” said Miss Hatherly. “The house is empty, yet I have heard voices and footsteps—the footsteps resembling Colonel Henks’. Last night,”—the round-eyed, round-mouthed circle drew nearer—“last night I heard them most distinctly at midnight, and I firmly believe that Colonel Henks’ spirit is trying to attract my attention. I believe that he has a message for me.”
Little Miss Simky gave a shrill scream and was carried to the dining-room to have hysterics in comfort among the wool mats and antimacassars.
“To-night I shall go there,” said Miss Hatherly, and the seekers after Higher Thought screamed again.
“Don’t, dear,” said Miss Euphemia Barney. “Oh—it sounds so—unsafe—and do you think it’s quite proper?”
“Proper?” said Miss Hatherly indignantly. “Surely there can be no impropriety in a spirit?”
“Er—no, dear—of course, you’re right,” murmured Miss Euphemia Barney, flinching under Miss Hatherly’s eye.
“I shall go to-night,” said Miss Hatherly again with one more scathing glance at Miss Euphemia Barney, “and I shall receive the message. I want you all to meet me here this time to-morrow and I will report my experience.”
The Society for the Encouragement of Higher Thought expostulated, but finally acquiesced.