Cecilia de Noël | Page 3

was gone, began:

"It is such a pity that clever people can never see things as others do.
George always goes on in this way as if the ghost were of no
consequence, but I always knew how it would be. Of course it is nice
that George should come in for the place, as he might not have done if
his uncle had married, and people said it would be delightful to live in
such an old house, but there are a good many drawbacks, I can assure
you. Sir Marmaduke lived abroad for years before he died, and
everything has got into such a state. We have had to nearly refurnish
the house; the bedrooms are not done yet. The servants'
accommodation is very bad too, and there was no proper cooking-range
in the kitchen. But the worst of all is the ghost. Directly I heard of it I
knew we should have trouble with the servants; and we had not been
here a month when our cook, who had lived with us for years, gave
warning because the place was damp. At first she said it was the ghost,
but when I told her not to talk such nonsense she said it was the damp.
And then it is so awkward about visitors. What are we to do when the
fishing season begins? I cannot get George to understand that some
people have a great objection to anything of the kind, and are quite
angry if you put them into a haunted room. And it is much worse than
having only one haunted room, because we could make that into a
bachelor's bedroom--I don't think they mind; or a linen cupboard, as
they do at Wimbourne Castle; but this ghost seems to appear in all the
rooms, and even in the halls and passages, so I cannot think what we
are to do."
I said it was extraordinary, and I meant it. That a ghost should venture
into Atherley's neighbourhood was less amazing than that it should
continue to exist in his wife's presence, so much more fatal than his
eloquence to all but the tangible and the solid. Her orthodoxy is above
suspicion, but after some hours of her society I am unable to
contemplate any aspects of life save the comfortable and the
uncomfortable: while the Universe itself appears to me only a gigantic
apparatus especially designed to provide Lady Atherley and her class
with cans of hot water at stated intervals, costly repasts elaborately
served, and all other requisites of irreproachable civilisation.
But before I had time to say more, Atherley in his smoking-coat looked

in to see if I was coming or not.
"Don't keep Mr. Lyndsay up late, George," said my kind hostess; "he
looks so tired."
"You look dead beat," he said later on, in his own particular and untidy
den, as he carefully stuffed the bowl of his pipe. "I think it would go
better with you, old chap, if you did not hold yourself in quite so tight. I
don't want you to rave or commit suicide in some untidy fashion, as the
hero of a French novel does; but you are as well-behaved as a woman,
without a woman's grand resources of hysterics and general
unreasonableness all round. You always were a little too good for
human nature's daily food. Your notions on some points are quite
unwholesomely superfine. It would be a comfort to see you let out in
some way. I wish you would have a real good fling for once."
"I should have to pay too dear for it afterwards. My superfine habits are
not a matter of choice only, you must remember."
"Oh!--the women! Not the best of them is worth bothering about, let
alone a shameless jilt."
"You were always hard upon her, George. She jilted a cripple for a very
fine specimen of the race. Some of your favourite physiologists would
say she was quite right."
"You never understood her, Lindy. It was not a case of jilting a cripple
at all. She jilted three thousand a year and a small place for ten
thousand a year and a big one."
After all, it did hurt a little, which Atherley must have divined, for
crossing the room on some pretext or another he let his strong hand rest,
just for an instant, gently upon my shoulder, thus, after the manner of
his race, mutely and concisely expressing affection and sympathy that
might have swelled a canto.
"I shall be sorry," he said presently, lying rather than sitting in the deep
chair beside the fire, "very sorry, if the ghost is going to make itself a

nuisance."
"What is the story of the ghost?"
"Story! God bless you, it has none to tell, sir; at least