Part 36 (2/2)

”I thought you liked the place; you seemed so delighted with the briars.”

”The briars are well enough, and so is the china; it's the rooms I complain of; they never can be reduced to high art--your sort of high art, I mean, Susy. But now, tell me, did you do much measuring?”

”No, I didn't; a dreadful woman came with me; she quite frightened me, and spoke a lot about the Lorrimers, and a ghost in the tower.”

”Well, of course there'd be a ghost in the tower,” continued Antonia; ”an old place like that couldn't exist without its ghost.”

”I don't believe a bit in ghosts,” said Susy. ”No sensible people believe in them; there are no such things. You know that, of course, Antonia.”

Susy looked uncomfortable while she spoke, and Antonia knew well that she was an arrant coward.

”You don't believe in ghosts either,” continued Susy; ”do you now, Tony?”

”Oh, but I do,” answered Antonia; ”I believe in them profoundly. I have Shakespeare for my authority on the subject.”

”And you really think that--that the Towers is haunted?”

”No doubt whatever on the subject. If you don't want to be convinced against your will, you must choose a bedroom in the most modern part of the house, and avoid the old tower, with its funny, quaint little rooms.

Frankly, I am disappointed in the Towers as a place for _you_--the rooms are not your sort--you want great, lofty, bright, modern rooms. I don't like that musty smell either; it points to damp somewhere. Then, it is scarcely likely that the water supply is perfect; those old wells are full of danger, and you once had typhoid, don't you remember? Your father will have to spend a lot on the place before he makes it anything like what your sort of high art requires; and when all is said and done, you'd be lonely there. You know I'm perfectly frank; you know that well, don't you?”

”Yes, Tony,” answered poor Susy in a most melancholy voice. ”Oh, please don't throw any more sponges at me; I am quite s.h.i.+vering, and your words make me feel so melancholy. But why should I be lonely at the Towers; there are plenty of neighbours all around?”

”That is true, but I don't believe you'll care for them, nor they for you: they are the Lorrimer sort, and the Miss Macalister sort, and the Hester Thornton sort. You know you don't care for those sorts of people, do you?”

”I'm sure I don't. I hate them. I wish father hadn't bought the Towers without consulting me.”

”Can't he back out of it?”

”Back out of his bargain? What do you mean?”

”I mean what I say; can't he get out of it? The Towers isn't a bit the sort of place for you; it isn't even healthy for a girl like you.

There's a ghost there, and ground damp, and bad water, and the neighbours aren't sociable, and you'll be moped to death.”

”How perfectly miserable you make me, Tony, but I won't be quite friendless, for you'll be here most of the time now, won't you?”

”Not I; I am going back to my atelier in Paris. Do you think I'd live in a poky corner of the world like this?”

”What shall I do?” echoed Susy. ”I think you're very unkind to make me so wretched and to depress me in the way you are doing. The Towers is bought now, and we must make the best of it.”

”I only hope you won't suffer the consequences of this piece of folly,”

retorted Antonia with spirit. ”The Towers is not the place for you, and you ought to persuade your father to get out of that bargain. Let him take a nice cheerful villa at Richmond; that's where you ought to live.”

”I wish he would,” said Susy; ”but it's a great deal too late, a great deal too late to draw back now. Besides, we did so want to be county people.”

”You'll never be county people, whatever that jargon means--that is, you'll never be like the Lorrimers and the Thorntons. You don't want to be, do you?”

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