"Betty fled as though she were pursued by seven devils," he said, when no other answer came to her cry. "I guessed at some mischief being afoot, so planned a surprise for anyone crossing the hall without my knowledge. No matter what her earlier opinions, Betty believes in that ghost now."
"Ghost! What ghost? There is no ghost here. Do you think to scare me with a bogey, like a naughty child?"
They were descending the broad stairs of the lower flight together, and Armathwaite had stolen one glance at the lissom young figure. He was minded to smile at a cunningly-hidden safety pin which kept a broad-brimmed fisherman's hat of heather mixture cloth in position so that the girl's hair was concealed. The coat hung rather loosely on slender shoulders, but the disguise was fairly effective in other respects, and the masquerader moved with an easy grace that betokened a good walker.
"I have not occupied the house many hours, but I have come to the conclusion that it harbors certain strange fantasies," he said, taking the lead, and stopping to break a thread stretched across the foot of the stairs. "We'll find a lamp and matches in the dining-room," he added. "Suppose we go there and discuss matters?"
"Isn't it rather late? Whatever time is it?" was the hesitating comment.
"And aren't you rather hungry?" he replied, ignoring both questions.
"I'm simply ravenous. I haven't eaten a morsel since six o'clock this morning."
"I can offer you bread and butter and milk. Shall I boil you some eggs?"
"If you mention food again, I shall drop. Please, what time is it?"
"Nearly midnight."