"WHAT TALES ARE THESE?" "Now tell me," said Mr Bevan, they were walking in the garden after luncheon, "tell me, Cousin Fanny"--Miss Lambert, had vanished with the Böllinger--"don't you think your father is a little bit--er--extravagant?" "He may be a bit extravagant," murmured Fanny, plucking a huge daisy and putting it in her belt. "But then--he is such a dear, and I know he tries to economise all he can, he sold the carriage and horse only a month ago, and just look at the garden! he wont go to the expense of a gardener but does it all himself; it would be disgraceful only it's so lovely, with all the things running wild; see, here is one of his garden gloves." She picked a glove out of a thorn bush and kissed it, and put it in her pocket. "He does the garden himself!" "He and James." "You don't mean----" "Mr Isaacs' man, they have dug up a lot of ground over there and planted asparagus. James was a gardener once, but as I have told you, he had misfortunes and had to take to the law. He is awfully poor, and his wife is ill; they live in a little street near Artesian Road, and father has been to see her; he came with me, and we brought her some wine; I carried it in a basket. See, is not that a beautiful rose?" she smiled at the rose, and Charles could not but admire her beauty. "And then," resumed Fanny, the smile fading as the wind turned the rose's face away, "father is so unfortunate, all the people he lends money to won't pay him back, and stocks and shares and things go up and down, and always the wrong way, so he says, and he gets into such a rage with the house because he can't mortgage it--it was left in trust for me--and we _can't_ let it, so we have to live in it." "Why can you not let it?" "Because of the ghost." "Good gracious goodness!" gobbled Charles, taking the cigar from his mouth. "What nonsense are you talking, Cousin Fanny? Ghost! there are no such things as ghosts." "_Aren't_ there?" said Fanny. "I wish you saw our one." "Do you really mean to try to make me believe----" cried Charles, then he foundered, tied up in his own vile English. "We did let it once, a year ago, to a Major Sawyer," said Fanny, and she smiled down the garden path at some presumably pleasant vision. "It was in May; we let it to him for three months and went down to Ramsgate to economise. Major Sawyer moved in on a Friday; I remember that, for the next day was Saturday, and I shall never forget that Saturday. "We were sitting at breakfast, when a telegram was brought, it was from the Major, and it was from the South Kensington Hotel; it said, as well as I can remember, 'Call without a moment's delay.'" "Of course we thought 'The Laurels' were burnt down, and you can fancy the fright we were in, for it's not insured--at least the furniture isn't." "Not insured!" groaned Charles.