We were some little in advance of Rob and Beth. When one spectral sound came like a tense whisper, Miss Frayne turned and fled, and of course I followed her. We could not see our two companions, but suddenly in an interim of wind and ghost whispers, we heard Beth say:
“Yes, Rob. I think we should really be cosier in a story-and-a-half cottage than we should in a bungalow.”
“Ye Gods!” muttered Miss Frayne, “did he propose in the face of that awful Thing?”
“Ship ahoy!” I called.
“Oh, didn’t you go inside?” asked Rob.
“Go in! I wouldn’t go inside that place; not if I lose my job on the paper. What can it be? You don’t seem to mind it, Miss Wade.”
“Well, you know,” said Beth apologetically, “this is my third performance.”
We were now down the hill out of sight of the gruesome, ghastly window display, and Miss Frayne gained courage as we retreated.
“Of course I don’t believe in ghosts,” she said, “but what do you suppose that is?”