"I never said any such thing," cried I, vexed to the bone.
"It wasna necessary," she said airily.
"Was it the ghost of a lady?" asked the Duke, who had been greatly amused by the dialogue.
"The question could only be asked," said Charles, "by one who has not the advantage of knowing Master Wheatman."
He laid a hand on my arm and drew me nearer. "My lord Duke," he went on, "I present to you the latest addition to my army, Mr. Oliver Wheatman of the Hanyards, the first-fruit, I am convinced, of a rich harvest from the gentry of his shire."
It was no plan of mine to cry stinking fish to a Prince who had engentried me in such distinguished company. "I'll have two blue stars and a jack in my coat-armour," thought I, as I bowed to the Duke, who made himself singularly graceful.
There was now a general movement down the corridor, headed by the Prince with one of the unknown ladies on his arm. There was no other formal pairing though Lady Ogilvie deftly snapped up the Duke as he was coming for Margaret, and thus left her to me.
She let the last pair get a yard or two ahead of us, and then looked at me, her eyes full of laughter, curtsied, and said, "Good morrow, Sir Kiss-the-ghost!"
"Good morrow, madam," said I stoutly.
She put her arm in mine and, as we moved off, whispered mockingly, "Sensible ghost!"