The ghost was, so to speak, dead, as far as any mention of him was made at the Lodgings. But in the servants' quarters he was very much alive.

The housemaid, who had promised not to tell "any one" that Miss Scott had seen a ghost, kept her word with literal strictness, by telling every one.

Robinson was of opinion that the general question of ghosts was still an open one. Also that he had never heard in his time, or his father's, of the Barber's ghost actually appearing in the Warden's library. When the maids expressed alarm, he reproved them with a grumbling scorn. If ghosts did ever appear, he felt that the Lodgings had a first-class claim to one; ghosts were "classy," he argued. Had any one ever heard tell of a ghost haunting a red brick villa or a dissenting chapel?

Louise had gathered up the story without difficulty, but she had secret doubts whether Miss Scott might not have invented the whole thing. She did not put much faith in Miss Scott. Now, if Lady Dashwood had seen the ghost, that would have been another matter!

What really excited Louise was the story that the Barber came to warn Wardens of an approaching disaster. Now Louise was in any case prepared to believe that "disasters" might easily be born and bred in places like the Lodgings and in a city like Oxford; but in addition to all this there had been and was something going on in the Lodgings lately that was distressing Lady Dashwood, something in the behaviour of the Warden! A disaster! Hein?

When she returned from St. Aldates, Gwendolen Scott had had only time to sit down in a chair and survey her boots for a few moments when Louise came into her bedroom and suggested that Mademoiselle would like to have her hair well brushed. Mademoiselle's hair had suffered from the passing events of the day.

"Doesn't Lady Dashwood want you?" asked Gwendolen.

No, Lady Dashwood was already dressed and was reposing herself on the couch, being fatigued. She was lying with her face towards the window, which was indeed wide open—wide open, and it was after sunset and at the end of October—par example!

Gwendolen still stared at her boots and said she wanted to think; but Louise had an object in view and was firm, and in a few minutes she had deposited the young lady in front of the toilet-table and was brushing her black curly hair with much vigour.

"Mademoiselle saw the ghost last night," began Louise.

"Who said that?" exclaimed Gwendolen.

"On dit," said Louise.

"Then they shouldn't on dit," said Gwendolen. "I never said I saw the ghost, I may have said I thought I saw one, which is quite different. The Warden says there are no ghosts, and the whole thing is rubbish."

"There comes no ghost here," said Louise, firmly, "except there is a disaster preparing for the Warden."

"The Warden's quite all right," said Gwen, with some scorn.

"Quite all right," repeated Louise. "But it may be some disaster domestic. Who can tell? There is not only death—there is—par exemple, marriage!" and Louise glanced over Gwendolen's head and looked at the girl's face reflected in the mirror.

"Well, that is cool," thought Gwendolen; "I suppose that's French!"

"The whole thing is rubbish," she said.

"One cannot tell, it is not for us to know, perhaps, but it may be that the disaster is, that Mrs. Dashwood, so charming—so douce—will not permit herself to marry again—though she is still young. Such things happen. But how the Barber should have obtained the information—the good God only knows."

Gwendolen blew the breath from her mouth with protruding lips.

"What has that to do with the Warden? I do wish you wouldn't talk so much, Louise."

"It may be a disaster that there can be no marriage between Mrs. Dashwood and Monsieur the Warden," continued Louise.

"The Warden doesn't want to marry Mrs. Dashwood," replied Gwendolen, with some energy.

"Mademoiselle knows!" said Louise, softly.

"Yes, I know," said Gwendolen. "No one has thought of such a thing—except you."

"But perhaps he is about to marry—some one whom Lady Dashwood esteems not; that would be indeed a disaster," said Louise, regretfully. "Ah, indeed a disaster," and she ran the brush lengthily down Gwendolen's hair.

"I do wish you wouldn't talk," said Gwen. "It isn't your business, Louise."

"Ah," murmured Louise, brushing away, "I will not speak of disasters; but I pray—I pray continually, and particularly I pray to St. Joseph to protect M. the Warden from any disaster whatever." Then she added: "I believe so much in St. Joseph."

"St. Joseph!" said Gwendolen, sharply. "Why on earth?"

"I believe much in him," said Louise.

"I don't like him," said Gwendolen. "He always spoils those pictures of the Holy Family, he and his beard; he is like Abraham."

"He spoils! That is not so; he is no doubt much, much older than the Blessed Virgin, but that was necessary, and he is un peu homme du monde—to protect the Lady Mother and Child. I pray to St. Joseph, because the good God, who was the Blessed Child, was always so gentle, so obedient, so tender. He will still listen to his kind protector, St. Joseph."

"Oh, Louise, you are funny," said Gwendolen, laughing.

"Funny!" exclaimed Louise. "Holy Jesus!"

"Well, it all happened such ages ago, and you talk as if it were going on now."

"It is now—always now—to God," exclaimed Louise, fervently; "there is no past—all is now."

This was far too metaphysical for Gwendolen. "You are funny," she repeated.

"Funny—again funny. Ah, but I forget, Mademoiselle is Protestant."

"No, I'm not," said Gwen; "I belong to the English branch of the Catholic Church."

"We have no branch, we are a trunk," said Louise, sadly.

"Well, I'm exactly what the Warden is and what Lady Dashwood is," said Gwendolen.

"Ah, my Lady Dashwood," said Louise, breaking into a tone of tragic melancholy. "I pray always for her. Ah! but she is good, and the good God knows it. But she is not well." And Louise changed her tone to one of mild speculation. "Madame perhaps is souffrante because of so much fresh air and the absence of shops."

"It is foolish to suppose that the Warden does just what Lady Dashwood tells him. That doesn't happen in this part of the world," said Gwendolen, her mind still rankling on Louise's remark about Lady Dashwood not esteeming—as if, indeed, Lady Dashwood was the important person, as if, indeed, it was to please Lady Dashwood that the Warden was to marry!

"Ah, no," said Louise. "The monsieurs here come and go just like guests in their homes. They do as they choose. The husband in England says never—as he does in France: 'I come back, my dearest, at the first moment possible, to assist you entertain our dear grandmamma and our dear aunt.' No, he says that not; and the English wife she never says: 'Where have you been? It is an hour that our little Suzette demands that the father should show her again her new picture book!' Ah, no. I find that the English messieurs have much liberty."

"It must be deadly for men in France," said Gwendolen.

"It is always funny or deadly with Mademoiselle," replied Louise.

But she felt that she had obtained enough information of an indirect nature to strengthen her in her suspicions that Lady Dashwood had arranged a marriage between the Warden and Mrs. Dashwood, but that the Warden had not played his part, and, notwithstanding his dignified appearance, was amusing himself with both his guests in a manner altogether reprehensible.

Ah! but it was a pity!

When Louise left the room Gwendolen went to the wardrobe, and took out the coat that Louise had put away. She felt in the wrong pocket first, which was empty, and then in the right one and found the ten-shilling note. Now that she had it in her hand it seemed to her amazing that Mrs. Potten, with her big income, should have fussed over such a small matter. It was shabby of her.

Gwendolen took her purse out of a drawer which she always locked up. Even if her purse only contained sixpence, she locked it up because she took for granted that it would be "stolen."

As she put away her purse and locked the drawer a sudden and disagreeable thought came into her mind. She would not like the Warden to know that she was going to buy an umbrella with money that Mrs. Potten had "thrown away." She would feel "queer" if she met him in the hall, when she came in from buying the umbrella. Why? Well, she would! Anyhow, she need not make up her mind yet what she would do—about the umbrella.

Meanwhile the Warden surely would speak to her this evening, or would write or something? Was she never, never going to be engaged?

She dressed and came down into the drawing-room. Dinner had already been announced, and Lady Dashwood was standing and Mrs. Dashwood was standing. Where was the Warden?

"I ought not to have to tell you to be punctual, Gwen," said Lady Dashwood. "I expect you to be in the drawing-room before dinner is announced, not after."

"So sorry," murmured Gwen; then added lightly, "but I am more punctual than Dr. Middleton!"

"The Warden is dining in Hall," said Lady Dashwood.

So the Warden had made himself invisible again! When was he going to speak to her? When was she going to be really engaged?

Gwendolen held open the door for the two ladies and, as she did so, glanced round the room. Now that she knew that the Warden was out somehow the drawing-room looked rather dreary.

Her eyes rested on the portrait over the fireplace. There was that odious man looking so knowing! She was not sure whether she shouldn't have that portrait removed when she was Mrs. Middleton. It would serve him right. She turned out the lights with some satisfaction, it left him in the dark!

As she walked downstairs behind the two ladies, she thought that they too looked rather dreary. The hall looked dreary. Even the dining-room that she always admired looked dreary, and especially dreary looked old Robinson, and very shabby he looked, as he stood at the carving table. And young Robinson's nose looked more turned-up, and more stumpy than she had noticed before. It was so dull without the Warden at the head of the table.

There was very little conversation at dinner. When the Warden was away, nobody seemed to want to talk. Lady Dashwood said she had a headache.

But Gwendolen gathered some information of importance. Mrs. Potten had turned up again, and had been told that the right money had gone to Mrs. Harding.

Gwendolen stared a good deal at her plate, and felt considerable relief when Lady Dashwood added: "She knows now that she did not lose her note in Christ Church. She is always dropping things—poor Marian! But she very likely hadn't the note at all, and only thought she had the note," and so the matter ended.

Just as dinner was over Gwen gathered more information. The Warden was going away early to-morrow! That was dreary, only—she would go and buy the umbrella while he was away, and get used to having it before he saw it.

That the future Mrs. Middleton should not even have an umbrella to call her own was monstrous! She must keep up the dignity of her future position!