"Well, Joan," said the benevolent mechanic, after he had looked at her steadfastly for a few moments, "what say you?—silence gives consent, eh?" Mrs. ’ ‘A French ghost?’ ‘Well, it ain’t a rat this time, Major, I can promise you that,’ Pottiswick had rejoined, his tone affronted. Come up stairs, and take a glass of brandy. If ever she felt fatigue in these long tramps which had already taken her half over London, she never admitted it. She feared he might take her tears as a sign of weakness. To-night there seemed to be a new brilliancy in her eyes, a deeper quality in her tone.
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