"Years after," said Connie dreamily, "we met some Americans in Switzerland who told us of a similar experience in this hotel. Later, I learned that Dad found out at the time that the place was reputed to be haunted by an old monk physician who turns up at intervals and feels people's pulses, and is often seen pottering about the garden in broad daylight. Monks are such a common sight in Italy that the hotel guests stop and converse with him, thinking him a gardener and never suspecting that he is a ghost."
"But the Manor ghost isn't like that?" asked Edith, who wanted reassurance.
"Not a bit," said Constance. "As for that, there was nothing so very frightful or repellent about the monk. Don't you think we should go to sleep now and give his spookship his innings?"
The girls agreed and silence fell over the big room with its three white beds. Outside the open casements a vine waved within Fran's line of vision, tapping gently against a window pane.
Presently a slight sound caught Fran's wakeful ear, as of steps on a somewhat unfamiliar stair where it was necessary to grope one's way. Touching Edith's shoulder, she sat up in bed. They had entered the haunted room by a door now locked, opening on a big stone staircase; these steps seemed upon muffled wood.
Next moment there came a sudden convulsive sneeze that sounded in her very ear. Frances gasped but Constance sat up laughing.
"No fair!" she exclaimed.
For a second there was absolute silence, then somebody laughed, extremely close at hand, though yet behind a partition. The laugh was followed by the soft sound of retreating footsteps.
"What happened, Miss Connie?" begged Edith.
"No ghost," said their hostess merrily. "I had forgotten. That was clever of Max."