"Whe—where are we going?" she gasped, as he drew her across the earthern floor.
"Upstairs. It's comfortable up there." They were at the foot of the narrow stairway. She held back.
"Never! It's the—the haunted house! I can't—Randolph."
"Pooh! Don't be afraid. I'm with you, dearest."
"I know," she gulped. "But you have only one arm. Oh, I can't!"
"It's all nonsense about ghosts. I've slept here twenty times, Penelope. People have seen my light and my shadow, that's all. I'm a pretty substantial ghost."
"Oh, dear! What a disappointment. And there are no spooks? Not even
Mrs. Renwood?"
"Of course she may come back, dear, but you'd hardly expect a respectable lady spook to visit the place with me stopping here. Even ghosts have regard for conventionalities. She couldn't—"
"How much more respectable than I," Penelope murmured plaintively.
"Forgive me," he implored.