The ladies of the party uttered exclamations in various keys, while the
men looked attentive and interested. All that Mr. Henniker pleased to
say was wont to command attention, in Dublin at least.
"So you think all ghost stories may be explained? What would Mrs.
Marchmont say to our old woman in the black bonnet, Angela?" And the
barrister turned to his quiet little wife, who rarely opened her lips.
She was eager enough now.
"I wish I could quite forget that old woman, John, dear," she said, with
a shiver.
"Won't you tell us, dear Mrs. Henniker? Please--please do!" cried the
ladies in chorus.
"Nay; John must tell that tale," said the wife, shrinking into herself,
as it were.
No one knew how it happened that the conversation had turned upon
mesmerism, spiritualism and other themes trenching upon the
supernatural. Perhaps the season, suggesting old-fashioned tales, had
something to do with it; or maybe the whistling wind, mingling with the
pattering of hail and rattle of cab-wheels, led the mind to brood over
uncanny legends. Anyhow, all the company spoke of ghosts: some to mock,
others to speculate; and here was the witty lawyer prepared to tell a
grave tale of his own experience.
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