“Horrible!” cried Mrs. Lecount, interrupting the ghostly narrative by a shrill little scream and making for the door, to Mrs. Wragge's unutterable astonishment, without the least ceremony. “You freeze the very marrow of my bones. Good-morning!” She coolly tossed the Oriental Cashmere Robe into Mrs. Wragge's expansive lap and left the room in an instant.
As she swiftly descended the stairs, she heard the door of the bedroom open.
“Where are your manners?” cried a voice from above, hailing her feebly over the banisters. “What do you mean by pitching my gown at me in that way? You ought to be ashamed of yourself!” pursued Mrs. Wragge, turning from a lamb to a lioness, as she gradually realized the indignity offered to the Cashmere Robe. “You nasty foreigner, you ought to be ashamed of you
