"Who's got hold of you?" asked Kathleen.
"She has, miss," replied the unhappy stranger.
"Who's she?" asked Kathleen, to gain time, as she afterwards explained, for she now knew well enough that what was keeping the door open was Eliza's unseen foot.
"My fyongsay, miss. At least it sounds like her voice, and it feels like her bones, but something's come over me, miss, an I can't see her."
"That's what he keeps on saying," said Eliza's voice. "E's my gentleman friend; is 'e gone dotty, or is it me?"
"Both, I shouldn't wonder," said Jimmy.
"Now," said Eliza, "you call yourself a man; you look me in the face and say you can't see me."
"Well I can't," said the wretched gentleman friend.
"If I'd stolen a ring," said Gerald, looking at the sky, "I should go indoors and be quiet, not stand at the back door and make an exhibition of myself."
"Not much exhibition about her," whispered Jimmy; "good old ring!"