"I like him," said Violet, in her decisive way.
"So do I," said Leicester. "He is my best friend. My rooms and his in the Temple adjoin."
"Do they?" said Violet. "How strange it sounds: 'In the Temple.' What do you do in chambers?"
"He works hard. I—smoke, drink, read, think, and watch him working."
Violet laughed.
"It must be very nice," she said, softly. "Look!" she said, suddenly; "that is the ghost's window."
"That long oriel window?" said Leicester. "You promised to tell me about your pet ghost."
"Don't joke about it," she said, with a short laugh. "Ask the fishermen about it. No man, woman or child would pass that tower after dark."
"What sort of ghost is it?" asked Leicester, with extreme levity. He did not believe in the supernatural.