So great was the illusion that he found himself mechanically offering his arm as he moved through the empty room towards the door. Then he descended the staircase without another word, preceded, however, by the sound of his host's voice. Following this as a blind man might, he entered the dining-room, which to his discomfiture was as empty as the salon above. Still following the host's voice, he dropped into a chair before the empty table, wondering what variation of the Barmecide feast was in store for him. Yet the hum of voices from the vacant chairs around the board so strongly impressed him that he could almost believe that he was actually at dinner.
“Are you seated?” asked the charming voice at his side.
“Yes,” a little wonderingly, as his was the only seat visibly occupied.
“I am so glad that this silly ceremony is over. By the way, where are you?”
Paul would have liked to answer, “Lord only knows!” but he reflected that it might not sound polite. “Where am I?” he feebly repeated.
“Yes; where are you dining?”
It seemed a cool question under the circumstances, but he answered promptly,—
“With you.”
“Of course,” said the charming voice; “but where are you eating your dinner?”
Considering that he was not eating anything, Paul thought this cooler still. But he answered briefly, “In Upshire.”