Mrs. Garth, after bidding us both good-night, also retired, and May subsided angrily into a recumbent position. “Just like Madge, to try and make me look ridiculous,” she grumbled. “All the same, it was a ghost, and I won’t stay here after to-morrow.”
And this was the girl who, only a few hours before, had talked of laying a ghost and unearthing the ghostly buried treasure with which her prolific imagination haunted the home of my childhood!
Certainly her escapade had had one good effect. It had banished my headache, and I did not suffer any more from insomnia that night.
When I awoke the next morning, May Morris was looking at me with a comical expression of disgust on her pretty face.
“Do you know,” she said solemnly, “I believe I made a perfect idiot of myself last night. I can’t think what it was that so unnerved me. The fact is, it was the unexpectedness of the whole thing. Now, if I had known beforehand that the house was haunted, I shouldn’t have been frightened a bit. You wait and see what a bold front I shall put on when we see the Grange ghost.”
“My dear,” I said, with a smile born of a conscious superiority in matters nervous, “there are two reasons why I cannot show the Grange ghost.”
“And what are they?”
“I am not likely to visit the interior of the Grange, and, if I did visit it, I could not show any one its ghost, because it hasn’t got one.”
“Hasn’t it, really?”
“No—really.”