Mrs. Turvey hated to hear important intelligence on the doorstep, or to have a secret imparted to her in the vulgar daylight, when brushes and brooms were about. If there was a nice delightful mystery to be revealed, or a little scandal to be whispered, let her drink it with her tea, after her work was done, and when she could sit still and enjoy it with muffin and marmalade. Mr. Duck was quite of her opinion, and so the invitation had been readily accepted. The only difficulty was Topsey; but this, with great diplomacy, Mrs. Turvey had got over. The servant next door was going to the Polytechnic that evening, and had promised to take Topsey with her directly Mrs. Turvey hinted that her niece had few opportunities of going out, and she thought that the ghost entertainment was one which, from an educational point of view, no child should miss. The glance with which Mrs. Turvey favoured Mr. Duck was therefore intended to inform him that he was to hold his tongue on the important matter for the present, but that by-and-by he would have an opportunity of speaking unreservedly. Mrs. Turvey had not calculated upon also sending the good man’s piece of muffin the wrong way. That was an unforeseen contingency, from which, however, Mr. Duck speedily recovered, and shone as placidly as ever. When tea was over, and Topsey had been packed off to see the ghost, with instructions not only for the evening but for her entire conduct in life, with many warnings not to tumble under ‘buses or to leave go her friend’s hand, and with strict injunctions not to get entangled in any machinery that might happen to be going at the Polytechnic, Mrs. Turvey settled herself down and prepared to hear Mr. Duck’s narrative. Mr. Duck commenced by solemnly lifting his eyes to the ceiling, and exclaiming, in dramatic tones: ‘Mrs. Turvey, madam, Mr. Gurth Egerton is there!’ Mrs. Turvey started up with a little scream, and glanced in amazement at the ceiling. Then she looked at Mr. Duck, to see if he was in his right senses. ‘Where?’ she gasped, presently. ‘In heaven, ma’am,’ answered the gentleman; then, dropping his voice and glancing significantly at the carpet, he added, ‘I trust he’s not _there_.’ ‘Lawks a mercy, Mr. Duck, how awful! You don’t mean to say that the master’s dead?’ ‘I don’t say positively he is, ma’am, and I can’t say positively that he is not, but the chances are that he is _there_ now.’ Mr. Duck had glanced at the carpet as he spoke, but he instantly corrected the mistake, and looked up solemnly at the ceiling. ‘Mr. Duck,’ said Mrs. Turvey, half crying, ‘don’t trifle with my feelings. I’ve been alone in this house so long, I’ve lost all the nerve I ever had. If the master’s dead I’d rather not stop here. I shouldn’t like to be in a dead man’s house. He was never easy in his life, poor man, and—and——’ ‘And he’s just one of those men you’d expect to come wandering about his house after death—eh, Mrs. Turvey?’