Pollen, absorbed apparently in thoughts of his own stammered slightly. "Why—why, yes," he agreed hastily.
Mrs. Ennis sighed ruefully and looked at Burnaby with large, humorously reproachful eyes. "You have changed," she observed, "or else you're not saying but half of what you really think—and part of it you don't think at all."
"Oh, yes," laughed Burnaby, "you misunderstand me." He picked up a fork and tapped the table-cloth with it thoughtfully; then he raised his head. "I was thinking of a story I might tell you," he said, "but on second thoughts I don't think I will."
"Don't be foolish!" admonished Mrs. Ennis. "Your stories are always interesting. First finish your dessert."
Pollen smiled languidly. "Yes," he commented, "go on. It's interesting, decidedly. I thought people had given up this sort of conversation long ago."
For the third time Burnaby turned slowly toward him, only now his eyes, instead of resting upon the bland countenance for a fraction of a second, surveyed it lingeringly with the detached, absent-minded stare Mrs. Ennis remembered so well. "Perhaps I will tell it, after all," he said, in the manner of a man who has definitely changed his mind. "Would you like to hear it?" he asked, turning to Mary Rochefort.
"Certainly!" she laughed. "Is it very immoral?"
"Extremely," vouchsafed Burnaby, "from the accepted point of view."
"Tell it in the other room," suggested Mrs. Ennis. "We'll sit before the fire and tell ghost stories."
There was a trace of grimness in Burnaby's answering smile. "Curiously enough, it is a ghost story," he said.