“I see,” said Babe. Then there was a long and dreadful pause. At last Babe broke it. “I presume he won’t care to move. Don’t let’s act like sillies. Let’s be perfectly nice and friendly, so no one will know how you—how we feel. For instance, if I go off now into another corner of the garden every one will want to laugh at us.”
“Do sit down here by all means,” said John politely, springing to draw up a chair for her.
There was another pause.
“I suppose we’ve got to talk,” said John doggedly at last. “How are the—what do you call them?—oh, yes, the dominant interests? How are they coming on?”
“We had a ghost last night,” said Babe primly. “It was trying to haunt some one in the house apparently. It banged and banged——”
“Why that was me,” said John with an ungrammatical suddenness that broke the ice. “You see Dwight and I got here about eight and after we’d settled our traps we went for a walk. Dwight got sleepy and came back, but I tramped pretty nearly all over Paris, I should say. And when I got here at last, I happened to think that I didn’t know the way to my room well enough to risk finding it alone. So I called up the porter. He thought I only wanted the gate opened, and it seems he has it fixed so he can do that without getting out of bed. But I pounded and pounded until he decided I was crazy, and came to put me out. And I finally made him understand the fix I was in.”
“You made the queerest noise coming up-stairs,” said Babe. “It sounded too ghostly for anything.”
“The porter has a wooden leg,” explained John, “so he can’t go quietly. He made all the noise that was made inside the house. I’m very sorry I woke you all up and frightened you.”
“Oh, we aren’t so nervous as all that,” Babe assured him gaily, and was frightened to see how friendly her words sounded. “Babbie,” she called hastily, as Babbie appeared in the doorway, “come and see the noisy Parisian ghost and tell him about the ghostly disappearance of his dear friend Mr. Trevelyan.”
Under cover of the story, Babe disappeared.