mmer.

He rose, the account in his hand, and proceeded to his wife's
dressing-room. Among other habits, Sibylla was falling into that of
indolence, scarcely ever rising to breakfast now. Or, if she rose, she
did not come down. Mademoiselle Benoite came whisking out of a side room
as he was about to enter.

"Madame's toilette is not made, sir," cried she, in a tart tone, as if
she thought he had no right to enter.

"What of that?" returned Lionel. And he went in.

Just as she had got out of bed, save that she had a blue quilted silk
dressing-gown thrown on, and her feet were thrust into blue quilted
slippers, sat Sibylla, before a good fire. She leaned in an easy-chair,
reading; a miniature breakfast service of Sevres china, containing
chocolate, on a low table at her side. Some people like to read a word
or two of the Bible, as soon as conveniently may be, after getting up in
the morning. Was that good book the study of Sibylla? Not at all. Her
study was a French novel. By dint of patience, and the assistance of
Mademoiselle Benoite in the hard words and complicated sentences, Mrs.
Verner contrived to arrive tolerably well at its sense.

"Good gracious!" she exclaimed, when Lionel appeared, "are you not gone
shooting with the rest?"

"I did not go this morning," he answered, closing the door and
approaching her.

"Have you taken breakfast?" she asked.

"Breakfast has been over a long while. Were I you, Sibylla, when I had
guests staying in the house, I should try and rise to breakfast with
them."

"Oh, you crafty Lionel! To save you the trouble of presiding. Thank
you," she continued good-humouredly, "I am more comfortable here. What
is this story about a ghost? The kitchen's in a regular commotion,
Benoite says."

"To what do you allude?" asked Lionel.

"Dan Duff is dying, or dead," returned Sibylla. "Benoite was in Deerham
last night, and brought him home to carry her parcels. In going back
again, he saw, as he says, Rachel Frost's ghost, and it terrified him
out of his senses. Old Roy saw it too, and the news has travelled up
here."

Sibylla laughed as she spoke. Lionel looked vexed.

"They are very stupid," he said. "A pity but they kept such stories to
themselves. If they were only as quiet as poor Rachel's ghost is, it
might be better for some of them."

"Of course _you_ would wish it kept quiet," said Sibylla, in a tone full
of significance. "I like to hear of these frights--it is good fun."