The Ghost Girl Read online

  CHAPTER II

  He left the room and Phyl, rising from the hearthrug, stood with her handon the mantelpiece listening.

  Hennessey had left the door open and she could hear a confused noise fromthe hall, the sound of luggage being brought in, the bustle of servantsand a murmur of voices.

  Then a voice that made her start.

  "Thanks, I can carry it myself."

  It was the newcomer's voice, he was being conducted to his room byHennessey. It was a cheerful, youthful voice, not in the least suggestiveof Uncle Sam with the goatee beard as depicted by the unimaginative artistof _Punch_. And it was a voice she had heard before, so she fancied, butwhere, she could not possibly tell--nor did she bother to think,dismissing the idea as a fancy.

  She stood listening, but heard nothing more, only the wind that had risenand was shaking the ivy outside the windows.

  Byrne, the old manservant, came in and lit the lamps and then after a fewminutes Hennessey entered. He looked cheerful.

  "He seems all right and he'll be down in a minute," said the lawyer; "nota bit of harm in him, though I haven't had time to tackle him over moneyaffairs."

  "How old is he?" asked the girl.

  "Old! Why, he's only a boy, but he's got all a man's ways with him--he'sAmerican, they're like that. I've heard say the American children ordertheir own mothers and fathers about and drive their own motor-cars andgamble on the Stock Exchange." He pulled out his watch and looked at it;it pointed to ten minutes past seven; then he lit a cigar and sat smokingand smoking without a word whilst Phyl sat thinking and staring at thefire. They were seated like this when the door opened and Byrne shewed inMr. Pinckney.

  Hennessey had called him a boy. He was not that. He was twenty-two yearsof age, yet he looked only twenty and you would not have been particularlysurprised if you had been told that he was only nineteen. Good-looking,well-groomed and well-dressed, he made a pleasant picture, and as he cameacross the room to greet Phyl he explained without speaking what Mr.Hennessey meant about "all the manners of a man."

  Pinckney's manner was the manner of a man of the world of thirty,easy-going, assured, and decided.

  He shook hands with Phyl as Hennessey introduced them, and then stood withhis back to the fireplace talking, as she took her seat in the armchair onthe right, whilst the lawyer remained standing, hands in pockets and footon the left corner of the fender.

  The newcomer did most of the talking. By a downward glance every now andthen he included Phyl in the conversation, but he addressed most of hisremarks to Mr. Hennessey.

  "And you came over by the Holyhead route?" said the lawyer.

  "I did," replied Pinckney.

  "And what did you think of Kingstown?"

  "Well, upon my word, I saw less of it than of a gentleman with long hairand a bundle of newspapers under his arm who received me like a motherjust as I landed, hypnotised me into buying half-a-dozen newspapers andstarted me off for Dublin with his blessing."

  "That was Davy Stevens," said Phyl, speaking for the first time.

  Pinckney's entrance had produced upon her the same effect as his voice.

  You know the feeling that some places produce on the mind when firstseen--

  "I have been here before But when or how I cannot tell I know the lights along the shore--"

  It seemed to her that she had known Pinckney and had met him in someplace, but when or how she could not possibly remember. The feeling hadalmost worn off now. It had thrilled her, but the thrill had vanished andthe concrete personality of the man was dominating her mind--and not verypleasantly.

  There was nothing in his manner or his words to give offence; he was quitepleasant and nice but--but--well, it was almost as though she had met someone whom she had known and liked and who had changed.

  The little jump of the heart that his voice caused in her had beenfollowed by a chill. His manner displeased her vaguely. He seemed soassured, so every day, so cold.

  It seemed to her that not only did he hold his entertainers at a criticaldistance, but that he was somehow wanting in respectfulness toherself--Lunatic ideas, for the young man could not possibly have beenmore cordial towards two utter strangers and as for respectfulness, onedoes not treat a girl in a pigtail exactly as one treats a full-grownwoman.

  "Oh, Davy Stevens, was it?" said Pinckney, glancing down at Phyl. "Well, Inever knew the meaning of peaceful persuasion till he had sold out hisstock on me. Now in the States that man would likely have been Presidentby this--Things grow quicker over there."

  "And what did you think of Dublin?" asked Hennessey.

  "Well," said the young man, "the two things that struck me most aboutDublin were the dirt and the want of taxicabs."

  A dead silence followed this remark.

  Never tell an Irishman that Dublin is dirty.

  Hennessey was dumb, and as for Phyl, she knew now that she hated thisman.

  "Of course," went on the other, "it's a fine old city and I'm not surethat I would alter it or even brush it up. I should think it's pretty muchthe same to-day as when Lever wrote of it. It's a survival of the past,like Nuremberg. All the same, one doesn't want to live in a survival ofthe past--does one?"

  "I've lived there a good many years," said Hennessey; "and I've managed tosurvive it. It's not Chicago, of course; it's just Dublin, and it doesn'tpretend to be anything else."

  "Just so," said Pinckney. He felt that he had put his foot in it;recalling his own lightly spoken words he felt shocked at his want oftact, and he was casting about for something to say about the sacred cityof a friendly nature but not too fulsome, when Byrne opened the door andannounced that dinner was served.