hing with him,
after all. He was leaning against the window at the end of the
corridor, and I never like to see excited people near windows, after my
suicide woman, so I sprinted along till I got to him. But I really
don't believe there was any need for it--he wasn't that kind.

"See here, Mr. Ferrau," I said, "do you really believe that Miss
Elton--I beg your pardon, Mrs. Ferrau--really gave that old Janet ghost
to you?"

"Believe it? _believe it_?" he said, staring at me out of his red eyes.
"No, I don't believe it, Miss Jessop--I know it! I tell you I see the
damned thing, in a brown dress, on the edge of my bed every night!"

"Well, then," I said, "do you think you could give it to anybody else?"

And just at that moment, and not before, I remembered old Margaret!

"Why--why, I never thought of that," he said. "I--I wouldn't put any
one else through such a hell, though----"

"Oh, come, now," I said. "Maybe they wouldn't think it was so bad as
you do, Mr. Ferrau."

"But who would--oh, it's too crazy!" he said, half angry, but all
broken up, so he didn't much care how it sounded.

"Oh, lots of people," I told him. "Why, you might easily find some one
with an incurable disease, you know, that hadn't long to live and
wanted money----"

Of course, this was all nonsense, but anything to humour people in his
condition--it's the only way. And what do you think? He turned around
like a shot and stared at me as if I'd been a ghost, myself.

"That might be possible," he said, very slowly; "it's just possible I
know ... excuse me, I'll go in and speak to my wife a moment!"

He left me there and in a few minutes he came for me again, and I went
into their parlour. She had on a beautiful pale rose negligee all
covered with lace and her braids were wound around her head: she'd
wiped her eyes.

"Would you perhaps play a little bridge with us, Miss Jessop?" says he,
trying to keep calm. "We think we'd better have some one with us."

So there we sat till four in the morning, playing three-handed bridge,
and if anybody knows of a funnier wedding-night, I'd like to hear of it!

I suppose anybody would have thought us all crazy if they could have
seen us, the next night, sitting, all three of us, by the bed of that
queer old man that lived in old Greenwich Village. (My patient let me
off, for I told her it was a case of a young bride and groom, and she
was delighted to oblige the Eltons. She told me she shoul