y, crowded with difficulties.

"I don't think I want that man to speak," said Mrs. Dashwood, turning
her head to look back at the portrait.

"What a funny thing to say!" thought Gwen, about a mere portrait, and
she sniggled a little. "He's got a ghost," she said aloud. "Hasn't he,
Lady Dashwood?"

"No," said Lady Dashwood briefly. "He hasn't got a ghost. The college
has got a ghost----"

"Oh, yes," said Gwen, "I mean that, of course."

"If the ghost is--all that remains of the gentleman over the fireplace,"
said Mrs. Dashwood, "I hope he doesn't appear often." She was still
glancing back at the portrait.

"Isn't it exciting?" said Gwen. "The ghost appears whenever anything is
going to happen----"

"My dear Gwen," said Lady Dashwood, "in that case the ghost might as
well bring his bag and baggage and remain here."

"What sort of ghost?" asked Mrs. Dashwood.

"Oh, only an eighteenth-century ghost--the ghost of the college barber,"
said Lady Dashwood. "When that man was Warden, the college barber went
and cut his throat in the Warden's Library."

"What for?" asked Mrs. Dashwood simply.

"Because the Warden insisted on his doing the Fellows' hair in the new
elaborate style of the period--on his old wages."

Mrs. Dashwood pondered, still looking at the portrait.

"I should have cut the Warden's throat--not my own," she said, "if I
had, on my old wages, to curl and crimp instead of merely putting a bowl
on the gentlemen's heads and snipping round."

"But he had his revenge," said Gwen eagerly, "he comes and shows himself
in the Library when a Warden dies."

Lady Dashwood had not during these last few minutes been really thinking
of the Warden or of the college barber, nor of his ghost. She was
thinking that it was characteristic of Gwen to be excited by and
interested in a silly ghost story--and it was equally characteristic of
her to be unable to tell the story correctly.

"He is supposed to appear in the Library when anything disastrous is
going to happen to a Warden," she said, and no sooner were the words
out of her mouth than she paused and began thinking of what she was
saying. "Anything disastrous to a Warden!" She had not thought of the
matter before--Jim was now Warden! Anything disastrous! A marriage may
be a disaster. Death is not so disastrous as utter disappointment with
life and the pain of an empty heart!

"Come along, May," she said, trying to suppress a shiver that went
through her frame