you? Hasn't she taken pains to make you all
feel at home?"

"Well, yes, sir. But she's taken Elsie back into the house, and there's
no work for her, there being two women in the laundry already; and she's
told me Dutch must be given his old place in charge of the poultry; and
both being Germans, you will recall."

"It's just her kind heart, you idiot! You've all been spoiled; that's
what's the matter with you. Elsie and Dutch are as law-abiding and
honest as the best of you."

"It causes feeling; that's all, sir."

"It needn't cause it if you brace up and act like a man," I retorted.
Then, sorry I had been so harsh, I added: "We must take good care of
Mrs. Bashford, Antoine. It would be your old master's wish. It will do
no harm to keep a guard at the house for the present in case your
mysterious stranger turns up again."

He couldn't have failed to note my change of tone about the unknown
visitor, but he made no comment.

"The guard's set, sir; front and rear."

"While there's no danger whatever it's just as well to take no chances.
Please tell the boys to send for me immediately at any hour of the night
if they see any prowlers about."

"Very good, sir. But if you please, sir"--he had reached the garage and
he lingered, fingering his hat nervously--"if it wasn't for the ladies
talking about spirits, we'd all feel better, sir. It's creepy, sir, all
the talk about witches and ghosts, no matter what names you call 'em
by."

"You're far from being a fool, Antoine. Those ladies just play at
believing in such rubbish. If they really believed in ghosts, you may be
sure they wouldn't talk about it at table before strangers like you and
me."

Though this seemed to impress him, a moment later, as I was drawing down
the shades in my bedroom, I saw him running across the lawn like a
frightened rabbit.

CHAPTER III

A FAN

The morning mail brought a letter from Searles acknowledging my
congratulations on his play. While my enthusiastic praise pleased him,
he was very scornful of my suggestions about available stars, and seemed
even more depressed than when he talked to me.

"It's impossible for me to plan other work. 'Lady Larkspur' ate the soul
out of me. I'm done; finished, clean out of the running. There's only
this to report. I had a letter from Dalton saying that some time ago he
asked at the hotel where he sent the script of 'Lady Larkspur' to know
whether Miss Dewing had sent a forwarding addres