She certainly was, both in appearance and manner; but, Una being used to her eccentricities, evinced no surprise, but, looking down on the grotesque figure from her tall height, smiled gravely. "Doctor Nestley, this is my aunt, Miss Cassandra Challoner," she said, in a soft voice. Miss Cassandra shook her girlish head and made an odd little bow, to which the doctor politely responded, then suddenly recollecting the tea-cosy, snatched it off with an apologetic giggle, thereby displaying a head of frizzy yellow hair. "Draughty house," she said, in explanation of her peculiar head-dress. "I get neuralgia pains down the side of my nose and in my left eye. I'm sure it's the left, doctor. Very odd, isn't it? I wear the tea-cosy to keep the heat in my head. Heat is good for the nerves, but you know all about that, being a doctor. How very odd. I mean, it isn't odd, is it?" How long she would have rambled on in this aimless fashion it is impossible to say, but, fortunately, a third woman, bearing a candle, appeared descending the stairs, which put an end to Miss Cassandra's chatter. "It's Jellicks," said Miss Challoner quickly, "the squire must be worse." Jellicks was an ugly old woman of about sixty, with a withered, wrinkled face, rough, greyish hair, and a peculiar kind of wriggling movement, something like that of a dog who has done wrong and wants to curry favour with his angry master. She wriggled down the stairs, writhed up to Una, and, with a final wriggle, delivered her message in one word and a whisper. "Wuss!" she hissed out in a low, sibillant manner. Dr. Nestley was beginning to feel bewildered with the strangeness of his position. This cold, vault-like hall with its high roof, tesselated black and white diamond pavement, massive figures in suits of armour on either side, seemed to chill his blood, and the three candles held by the three women danced before his eyes like will-o'-the-wisps. A musty odour permeated the atmosphere, and the flickering lights, which only served to show the darkness, assumed to his distorted imagination the semblance of corpse candles. Shaking off this feeling with an effort, he turned to Miss Challoner. "I think I had better go up at once," he said in a loud, cheerful voice. "Every moment is precious." Miss Challoner bowed in silence, and preceded him up the stairs, followed by the wriggling Jellicks and the girlish Miss Cassandra, who declined to be left behind. "No; positively no," she whimpered, shaking her candle and replacing the cosy on her head. "It's like a tomb--the 'Mistletoe Bough,' you know--very odd--he might die--his spirit and all that sort of thing--nerves, doctor, nothing else--chronic; mother's side--dear, dear. I feel like a haunted person in what's-his-name's book? Dickens. Charming, isn't he? So odd."