"Isn't there a tame ghost of some sort about Loquhariot?" he asked Sallie, and, catching the duchess's eye, shrank into himself again under the glance she darted at him.
"Not another word about wraiths and spectres!" his youthful aunt ordered briskly. "We don't want our dinner spoiled with any such nonsense. The White Lady isn't a subject for table-talk, Ingoldsby. We've a skeleton in the cupboard at Dawn, too, you know, as every respectable Highland family has. But I fancy that what Mr. Carthew really saw to-day was simply some snow-laden bush."
"Dawn must be a very beautiful old place," Slyne remarked to the duchess, and Lord Ingoldsby turned toward Sallie again; as did Mr. Jobling after a glance of extreme disfavour at Carthew, on his other hand. And Carthew could not at all understand the general gravity, until Herries whispered over to him, under cover of the renewed conversation, "You haven't heard of our White Lady here, yet, Mr. Carthew. But she brings dule to the house, and—they say it was her that was seen in the woods this afternoon."
Carthew nodded. He had heard nothing of any such superstition, but knew enough already of the natives of those wilds to understand how they would cling to it. He thought for a moment of telling Herries that it was a man and no woman whom he had seen, but that would perhaps have disclosed too much to Captain Dove, and he decided to keep his own counsel until he could obtain some safer clue to all those mysteries.
Some movement in the little gallery above the buffet caught his attention, and he thought he could see the old housekeeper, Mrs. M'Kissock, at the balustrade with Ambrizette, Sallie's black maid, all eyes, looking down at the gathering. And the smile Sallie flashed at him as he looked at her told him she also knew that they were there.
Slyne grew somewhat distrait and restless as the long dinner ran its course, and Carthew had to devote more attention to the duchess. Among the rest of the company all seemed to be going well. Mr. Jobling and Lord Ingoldsby were both growing always more garrulous, and even Captain Dove had brightened up under the sunny influence of the rare vintages dispensed by the butler; he had got to the length of discussing the lights on that coast with Herries, the factor, before the pop of a cork at the buffet served to announce that the champagne was coming next.
Slyne was obviously about to claim the attention of the table. Carthew supposed he must be going to propose some toast, and wondered whether he did not know any better than that. But he waited till every glass was filled before he made any move, and when Sallie would have refused the wine he sent the butler back to her with a whispered message. At which, Carthew observed, a sudden pallor overspread her face; he was watching her very closely.
The rest of the company and the servants also looked round at Slyne in surprise as he rose, but Carthew did not. He had seen Sallie lift a filmy, lace-edged handkerchief from her lap—and caught sight of something that it was meant to conceal. She raised a clenched hand above the wine-glass before her, and Carthew could have sworn that he saw some colourless drops splash down on the bubbling champagne. Then she slipped her handkerchief out of sight again, and sat with bent head, idly twirling the stem of the wine-glass between her fingers, watching the white froth break at its brim.
And still Slyne said nothing. Carthew scarcely dared to glance up at him till he saw that Sallie was gazing that way with wonder and fear in her eyes.
Slyne was standing rigid. The glass he had lifted was tilting over, its contents dripping out on the table-cloth. His mouth was open, as if to speak, and his lips were moving but emitted no sound. He was staring fixedly into an obscure corner under the musicians' gallery, where was the service-doorway from which the piper always appeared.