“I should love to go on the stage,” threw in Poppy.
“Niece, you do not know what you say,” remarked Lady Mabel, turning herself about.
“Allow me, my lady,” said the parson. “What I have said is fact, is it not?”
“Most certainly,” replied all. Lady Mabel said: “I suppose it is.”
“Then,” pursued the parson, “the situation is this: Have you secured the dramatisation of your novel?”
“I never gave it a thought,” said Joseph.
“In that case, as there is no prospect of our being so accommodated, the position is this: We shall have to haunt you night and day, mainly at night, till you have accommodated us with bodies; we cannot remain as phantom creations of a highly imaginative soul such as is yours, Mr. Leveridge. If you have your rights, so have we. And we insist on ours, and will insist t
