ntly, "I can never respect myself again? To
undertake a thing like that, and then be so horribly frightened. Oh! I
thought you really _were_ the other ghost."

"I will tell you a secret," said I. "I thought _you_ were, and I was
much more frightened than you."

"Oh well," she said, leaning against my shoulder as a tired child might
have done, "if you were frightened too, Cousin Lawrence, I don't mind so
very, very much."

It was soon afterwards that, cautiously looking out of the parlour
window for the twentieth time, I had the happiness of seeing the local
policeman disappear into the stable rubbing his eyes.

We got out of the window on the other side of the house, and went back
to the inn across the dewy park. The French window of the sitting-room
which had let her out let us both in. No one was stirring, so no one
save she and I were any the wiser as to that night's work.

* * * * *

It was like a garden party next day, when lawyers and executors and
aunts and relations met on the terrace in front of Sefton Manor House.

Her eyes were downcast. She followed her Aunt demurely over the house
and the grounds.

"Your decision," said my great-uncle's solicitor, "has to be given
within the hour."

"My cousin and I will announce it within that time," I said and I at
once gave her my arm.

Arrived at the sundial we stopped.

"This is my proposal," I said: "we will say that we decide that the
house is yours--we will spend the L20,000 in restoring it and the
grounds. By the time that's done we can decide who is to have it."

"But how?"

"Oh, we'll draw lots, or toss a halfpenny, or anything you like."

"I'd rather decide now," she said; "_you_ take it."

"No, _you_ shall."

"I'd rather you had it. I--I don't feel so greedy as I did yesterday,"
she said.

"Neither do I. Or at any rate not in the same way."

"Do--do take the house," she said very earnestly.

Then I said: "My cousin Selwyn, unless you take the house, I shall make
you an offer of marriage."

"_Oh!_" she breathed.

"And when you have declined it, on the very proper ground of our too
slight acquaintance, I will take my turn at declining. I will decline
the house. Then, if you are obdurate, it will become an asylum. Don't be
obdurate. Pretend to take the house and----"

She looked at me rather piteously.

"Very well," she said, "I will pretend to take the house, and when it is
restored----"

"We'll spin