Produced by Suzanne Shell, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net THE GHOST A Modern Fantasy BY ARNOLD BENNETT AUTHOR OF "THE OLD WIVES' TALES," "CLAYHANGER," ETC., ETC. BOSTON SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 1911 Copyright, 1907 By HERBERT B. TURNER & CO. Copyright, 1911 BY SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY (INCORPORATED) CONTENTS CHAPTER I. MY SPLENDID COUSIN II. AT THE OPERA III. THE CRY OF ALRESCA IV. ROSA'S SUMMONS V. THE DAGGER AND THE MAN VI. ALRESCA'S FATE VII. THE VIGIL BY THE BIER VIII. THE MESSAGE IX. THE TRAIN X. THE STEAMER XI. A CHAT WITH ROSA XII. EGG-AND-MILK XIII. THE PORTRAIT XIV. THE VILLA XV. THE SHEATH OF THE DAGGER XVI. THE THING IN THE CHAIR XVII. THE MENACE XVIII. THE STRUGGLE XIX. THE INTERCESSION THE GHOST CHAPTER I MY SPLENDID COUSIN I am eight years older now. It had never occurred to me that I am advancing in life and experience until, in setting myself to recall the various details of the affair, I suddenly remembered my timid confusion before the haughty mien of the clerk at Keith Prowse's. I had asked him: "Have you any amphitheatre seats for the Opera to-night?" He did not reply. He merely put his lips together and waved his hand slowly from side to side. Not perceiving, in my simplicity, that he was thus expressing a sublime pity for the ignorance which my demand implied, I innocently proceeded: "Nor balcony?" This time he condescended to speak. "Noth--ing, sir." Then I understood that what he meant was: "Poor fool! why don't you ask for the moon?" I blushed. Yes, I blushed before the clerk at Keith Prowse's, and turned to leave the shop. I suppose he thought that as a Christian it was his duty to enlighten my pitiable darkness. "It's the first Rosa night to-night," he said with august affability. "I had a couple of stalls this morning, but I've just sold them over the telephone for six pound ten." He smiled. His smile crushed me. I know better now. I know that clerks in box-offices, with their correct neckties and their air of continually doing wonders over the telephone, are not, after all, the grand masters of the operatic world. I know that that manner of theirs is merely a part of their attire, like their cravats; that they are not really responsible for the popularity of great sopranos; and that they probably go home at nights to Fulham by the white omnibus, or to Hammersmith by the red one--and not in broughams. "I see," I observed, carrying my crushed remains out into the street. Impossible to conceal the fact that I had recently arrived from Edinburgh as raw as a ploughboy!