"Max," she said severely, addressing the unseen musician, "you are spoiling your fiddle and breaking your promise. You said you wouldn't be silly. Go to bed now like a good boy."
The fiddle responded with two ear-splitting squawks.
"Stop it!" commanded Constance. "There goes a string and it serves you quite right. You'll have the bobbies coming to investigate if you don't leave off."
The unappreciated serenader appeared squelched by this threat, for complete silence followed.
"Nothing more is at all likely to happen tonight," said Constance, coming back to bed. "And I hope Max will go properly to his room. Now go to sleep, girlies, and in the morning, I'll tell you how the Manor ghost disports itself."
CHAPTER XVI
THE MANOR GHOST
In spite of a firm intention to remain awake, Frances soon fell into quiet slumber and knew nothing more until the next morning. February dawns in England are dark, but when she finally opened her eyes, the room was faintly lighted by the coming sun and her watch told her that it was after eight.
Edith still seemed asleep, but from the bed at the left, Connie smiled back at her. For some reason known only to herself, their gay little hostess had decreed that Frances should take the centre bed.
"Awake?" she whispered. "How's Edith? Is she still off?"