which he prefers
to a cigar. The tall, scornful gentleman who leans lazily against the
door, "blowing great clouds of smoke into the air," is the hero of a
hundred novels. That is how he is always standing when the heroine,
having need of something she has left in the drawing-room, glides down
the stairs at night in her dressing-gown (her beautiful hair, released
from its ribbons, streaming down her neck and shoulders), and comes most
unexpectedly upon him. He is young. The senior, over whose face "a smile
flickers for a moment" when the heroine says something naive, and whom
she (entirely misunderstanding her feelings) thinks she hates, smokes
unostentatiously; but though a little inclined to quiet "chaff," he is a
man of deep feeling. By and by he will open out and gather her up in his
arms. The scorner's chair is filled. I see him, shadow-like, a sad-eyed,
_blase_ gentleman, who has been adored by all the beauties of
fifteen seasons, and yet speaks of woman with a contemptuous sneer.
Great, however, is love; and the vulgar little girl who talks slang will
prove to him in our next volume that there is still one peerless beyond
all others of her sex. Ah, a wondrous thing is love! On every side of
me there are dark, handsome men, with something sinister in their smile,
"casting away their cigars with a muffled curse." No novel would be
complete without them. When they are foiled by the brave girl of the
narrative, it is the recognized course with them to fling away their
cigars with a muffled curse. Any kind of curse would do, but muffled
ones are preferred.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS EVE.

[Illustration]

A few years ago, as some may remember, a startling ghost-paper appeared
in the monthly organ of the Society for Haunting Houses. The writer
guaranteed the truth of his statement, and even gave the name of the
Yorkshire manor-house in which the affair took place. The article and
the discussion to which it gave rise agitated me a good deal, and I
consulted Pettigrew about the advisability of clearing up the mystery.
The writer wrote that he "distinctly saw his arm pass through the
apparition and come out at the other side," and indeed I still remember
his saying so next morning. He had a scared face, but I had presence of
mind to continue eating my rolls and marmalade as if my brier had
nothing to do with the miraculous affair.

[Illustration]

Seeing that he made a "paper"