The Baronet's niece expressed her perfect willingness to share her sleep with Daphne.
"Leave me that sword," she said to me. "I only hope that ghost will return: if it is one of flesh and blood it had better not venture too near me!"
And Florrie waved the blade above her head with the serio-comic air of the pretty lady-hero in the Christmas pantomine when she bids the wicked demon come on and do his worst.
"Florrie is an Amazon," smiled the Baronet, "and doesn't fear man, ghost, or devil. I think, Miss Leslie, you will be quite safe in her keeping."
We made no longer tarrying, but, bidding the two girls "good-night," withdrew—the ladies to their rooms, the gentlemen to the broad landing, at the end of the corridor, there to discuss the affair for a few minutes.
"This is a very mysterious house," said my uncle to the Baronet.
"Egad! I'm beginning to think so myself."
Among those who had stood silent spectators in Daphne's room was a doctor of great renown.
"Did you not detect," he said to my uncle, "a peculiar odour hanging around the dressing-table?"
"I did. Perfumes for handkerchiefs, I suppose."