"You take me up sharply. Nevertheless, strange tales are whispered of Chandos. On a moonlight night, as report runs, the spirit of Sir Thomas may be seen in the walks."
"Does it swim over from India to take its promenade?" I mockingly asked.
"You are thinking of the present baronet: he is not dead. I spoke of the late one. Look out some of these light nights, will you, and tell me whether you see anything. I cannot; for the available windows of the east wing do not face this way. They say he takes exercise there," pointing to the pine-walk.
"Did you say Sir Thomas's ghost, Mrs. Penn?" I asked, laughing.
"The world says so. I hear that some of the maids here, seeing the sight, have arrived at the notion that it is only Mr. Harry Chandos given to come out of his room at night and take moonlight promenades."
There was a ball in the window-seat, and I tossed it with indifference. She had got hold of the wrong story, and it was not my place to set her right. Hill came up, saying Mr. Chandos wished to speak to me; but I did not hurry down.
I had made my mind up to borrow sufficient money of him to take me to Nulle, and was trying to call up courage to ask it. His leg was upon a rest when I went in, and he leaned back in his chair reading a newspaper.
"I want to speak to you, Miss Hereford."
"And I—wanted—to speak to you, sir, if you please," I said, resolutely, in spite of my natural hesitation.
"Very well. Place aux dames. You shall have the first word."