ose,
Mrs Lawford--and of course I wouldn't for a moment venture on such a
conjecture unsupported-but even if this restless spirit (let us call
it) did succeed in making a footing, it might possibly be rather in
the nature of a lodging than a permanent residence. Moreover we are, I
think, bound to remember that probably in all spheres of existence like
attracts like; even the Gadarene episode seems to suggest a possible
MULTIPLICATION!' he peered largely. 'You don't suppose, Mrs Lawford...?'

'I think Mr Craik doesn't quite relish having to break the news, Sheila
dear,' explained Mrs Lovat soothingly, 'that perhaps Sabathier's out.
Which really is quite a heavenly suggestion, for in that case your
husband would be in, wouldn't he? Just our old stolid Arthur again, you
know. And next Mr Craik is suggesting, and it certainly does seem rather
fascinating, that poor Ada's got mixed up with the Frenchman's friends,
or perhaps, even, with one of the seventy-two Princes Royal. I know
women can't, or mustn't reason, Mr Danton, but you do, I hope, just
catch the drift?'

Danton started. 'I wasn't really listening to the girl,' he explained
nonchalantly, shrugging his black shoulders and pursing up his eyes.
'Personally, Mrs Lovat, I'd pack the baggage off to-night, box and all.
But it's not my business.'

'You mustn't be depressed--must he, Mr Craik? After all, my dear man,
the business, as you call it, is not exactly entailed. But really,
Sheila, I think it must be getting very late. Mr Bethany won't come now.
And the dear old thing ought certainly to have his say before we go any
further; OUGHTN'T he, Mr Danton? So what's the use of worriting poor
Ada's ghost any longer. And as for poor Arthur--I haven't the faintest
desire in the world to hear the little cart drive up, simply in case it
should be to leave your unfortunate husband behind it, Sheila. What
it must be to be alone all night in this house with a dead and buried
Frenchman's face--well, I shudder, dear!'

'And yet, Mrs Lovat,' said Mr Craik, with some little show of returning
bravado, 'as we make our bed, you know.'

'But in this case, you see,' she replied reflectively, 'if all accounts
are true, Mr Craik, it's manifestly the wicked Frenchman who has made
the bed, and Sheila who refu---- But look; Mr Danton is fretting to get
home.'

'If you'll all go to the door,' said Danton, seizing a fleeting
opportunity to raise his eyebrows more expressively even than if