"Miss Bleek is not likely to be in a frame of mind to see ghosts," said
Hugo Norbury, "if she goes to bed with her brain awhirl with royal spades
and no trumps and grand slams."
"I've talked to her for hours about Mrs. Hatch-Mallard's uncle," said his
wife, "and pointed out the exact spot where he killed himself, and
invented all sorts of impressive details, and I've found an old portrait
of Lord John Russell and put it in her room, and told her that it's
supposed to be a picture of the uncle in middle age. If Ada does see a
ghost at all it certainly ought to be old Hatch-Mallard's. At any rate,
we've done our best."
The precautions were in vain. On the third morning of her stay Ada Bleek
came down late to breakfast, her eyes looking very tired, but ablaze with
excitement, her hair done anyhow, and a large brown volume hugged under
her arm.
"At last I've seen something supernatural!" she exclaimed, and gave Mrs.
Norbury a fervent kiss, as though in gratitude for the opportunity
afforded her.
"A ghost!" cried Mrs. Norbury, "not really!"
"Really and unmistakably!"
"Was it an oldish man in the dress of about fifty years ago?" asked Mrs.
Norbury hopefully.
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