“Well, he was writing a book, as you say; I’m not quite sure what it was about, but only that it was nothing that I cared for, very likely you are right, and he certainly did stop—yes.”
“And although he only drank a little coffee here to-night, he likes tea, at least, did like it, extravagantly.”
“Yes, that’s quite true.”
“He drank green tea, a good deal, didn’t he?” I pursued.
“Well, that’s very odd! Green tea was a subject on which we used almost to quarrel.”
“But he has quite given that up,” said I.
“So he has.”
“And, now, one more fact. His mother or his father, did you know them?”
“Yes, both; his father is only ten years dead, and their place is near Dawlbridge. We knew them very well,” she answered.
“Well, either his mother or his father—I should rather think his father, saw a ghost,” said I.