May I put a light to these bits of sticks? MRS. OTERY. If you like. My orders are to have fires once a week. (_He lights the twigs in the fireplace, and they burn up easily, but will be ashes in a few minutes._) _You_ can’t have the money to buy a house like this. HARRY. Not me. It was just my manly curiosity to see the old home that brought me. I’m for Australy again. (_Suddenly turning on her._) What is wrong with this house? MRS. OTERY (_on her guard_). There is nothing wrong with it. HARRY. Then how is it going so cheap? MRS. OTERY. It’s--in bad repair. HARRY. Why has it stood empty so long? MRS. OTERY. It’s--far from a town. HARRY. What made the last tenant leave in such a hurry? MRS. OTERY (_wetting her lips_). You have heard that, have you? Gossiping in the village, I suppose? HARRY. I have heard some other things as well. I have heard they had to get a caretaker from a distance, because no woman hereabout would live alone in this house. MRS. OTERY. A pack o’ cowards. HARRY. I have heard that that caretaker was bold and buxom when she came, and that now she is a scared woman. MRS. OTERY. I’m not. HARRY. I have heard she’s been known to run out into the fields and stay there trembling half the night. (_She does not answer, and he resorts to cunning again._) Of course, I see they couldn’t have meant you. Just foolish stories that gather about an old house. MRS. OTERY (_relieved_). That’s all. HARRY (_quickly as he looks at the little door_). What’s that? (_MRS. OTERY screams_.) I got you that time! What was it you expected to see? (_No answer._) Is it a ghost? They say it’s a ghost. What is it gives this house an ill name? MRS. OTERY. Use as brave words as you like when you have gone, but I advise you, my lad, to keep a civil tongue while you are here. (_In her everyday voice._) There is no use showing you the rest of the house. If you want to be stepping, I have my work to do. HARRY. We have got on so nicely I wonder if you would give me a mug of tea. Not a cup, we drink it by the mugful where I hail from. MRS. OTERY (_ungraciously_). I have no objection. HARRY. Since you are so pressing I accept. MRS. OTERY. Come down then to the kitchen. HARRY. No, no, I’m sure the Prodigal got his tea in the drawing-room, though what made them make such a fuss about that man beats me. MRS. OTERY (_sullenly_). You are meaning to go into that room. I wouldn’t if I was you. HARRY. If you were me you would. MRS. OTERY (_closing the little door_). Until I have your promise---- HARRY (_liking the tenacity of her_). Very well, I promise--unless, of course, she comes peeping out at the handsome gentleman. Your ghost has naught to do wi’ me. It’s a woman, isn’t it? (_Her silence is perhaps an assent._) See here, I’ll sit in this chair till you come back, saying my prayers. (_Feeling the chair._) You’re clammy cold, old dear. It’s not the ghost’s chair by any chance, is it? (_No answer._)