“The ghost? You don’t believe in ghos’es, do you?”
Ellen’s face was still flaming. “I—yes—no—I don’t know,” she answered in confusion.
Reed regarded her steadfastly for a moment; then he said, “Cronette, honest Injun, can it be possible that you are my wood-nymph?”
“Your wood-nymph?” she spoke in surprise. “Why, that was Robert MacDonald,” and then again the color surged up into her face as she realized that she had said too much.
It was Reed’s turn to look surprised. “Robert MacDonald? Who is the bird? Oh, I say, Cronette, what’s the use of beating about the bush? Tell your uncle all about it and I’ll ’fess up, too.”
Ellen hesitated, but at further urging she said: “We, Mabel and I, came over to see the haunted house. We found a card, Mr. Robert MacDonald’s card. On it was written ‘Compliments to the ghost,’ and so we drew our own conclusions. We thought it would be a lark to answer it, which we did. Perhaps you know the rest, and can tell me who is Robert MacDonald.”
Reed looked puzzled for a moment, then he struck his forehead tragically. “Dolt that I am!” he exclaimed. “I see it now. I didn’t happen to have a card of my own that first time I visited this mansion, so I took one that I happened to have in my pocket, one that a fellow gave me some time ago. I actually had forgotten his name, and had no intention of forging his initials when I signed my own, which are the same, you see.”
“Then we shall never meet Robert,” rejoined Ellen half regretfully.
Reed laughed. “Are you then so disappointed? I’m pleased to pieces myself. To think that you should be my wood-nymph is the jolliest sort of a surprise, and we’ll keep it a secret all to ourselves.”
“How can we keep it a secret when all those men know?”