As he grew calmer with the increasing distance, he took a resolution, which was the first beginning of a struggle against his fate.
Cuthbert Staunton arrived in due time, in a holiday humour, and having plenty of conversation, he occupied Mrs Palmer’s attention until the hour came for the two young men to wish her good night, and betake themselves to a room devoted to the use of Guy and Godfrey, where they could talk and smoke at their leisure.
“Yours is a charming climate,” said the visitor, “where any one may light a fire in August with a clear conscience. Short of southern moonlight, etc, there is nothing so delightful.”
“Sit down in front of it,” said Guy; “we’re generally glad of one here, and it looks cheerful. Now, I’m expecting you to put me up to all the newest lights—one gets rusty down here. About the spooks, for instance, the Miss Vyners were talking of in London. I want to examine into them a bit. Did you ever come across a fellow who had seen one—by any chance?”
“No,” said Staunton. “I should like to come across a first-hand one, very much.”
“Well, here’s your chance, then. I have—twice.”
“Seen a man who has seen one?”
“No, better than that, seen the genuine article, myself. I—I want to know how to manage him. It seems the correct thing, nowadays, to entertain ghosts and imps of all kinds.”
“I don’t know any, personally,” said Cuthbert, purposely echoing Guy’s bantering tone, though he noticed the matches he struck in vain, and the suppressed excitement of his manner. “But I should like to hear your experiences very much.”
“He paid me a visit last night,” said Guy.