“I know what you think,” said Jacob, after a pause; “you are superstitious—some girls are made that way—and you believe in ghosts.” “Very substantial ones,” she retorted. “I could tell tales to them that are curious. You are not curious, are you, Mr. Short?” “One of my faults,” replied Short, after a pause, “is that I am made without the least scrap of curiosity. They say it is a sign that I am lacking in human sympathy; but I never did take the least glimmer of interest in what did not concern myself. It is nothing to me whether there are rats in the cellars, or whether there are ghosts. You will excuse me now, Miss Winsome, for hurrying on; I have got to take the wine into the drawing-room; it is past ten o’clock.” CHAPTER XXII. THE MAN WITH THE MARK. The Rowtons now entered on a very gay time. They accepted every invitation which came to them. No night passed which did not find them either dining out or attending large evening receptions. The ball at Pitstow turned out an immense success, and Nance was the acknowledged belle of the occasion. She wore one of her most beautiful Paris dresses, which gave her all that diaphanous and somewhat cloudy appearance which best set off the delicate style of her beauty. Nance wore diamonds on this occasion, and there were no jewels to match with hers amongst the giddy throng. By-and-by, the time drew on when Rowton and his wife were to give that house-warming which the master of Rowton Heights had spoken of on the day when he first took Nance over the house. The preparations for the ball were at their height, and the ball itself was to take place within a week’s time, when, to Mrs. Ferguson’s unbounded astonishment and annoyance, Jacob, the valuable new footman, begged for a holiday. He came to the housekeeper just when she was at her busiest, and made his request in that cool, quiet voice which always characterised him. “I want to go up to London for a day and a night,” he said. “Well, I suppose you can when the ball is over,” she returned. “You have not been here two months yet; but you are a good servant, and I daresay Vickers can manage to spare you; but, of course, such a thing cannot be thought of until the ball is over.” “I am very sorry,” replied Jacob, “but I have had bad news from home, and must go and attend to matters myself. If you let me off to-day, Mrs. Ferguson, I’ll be back, at the very latest, the day after to-morrow.” “You cannot go at all. Your request is most unreasonable,” said Mrs. Ferguson. “There are some new servants coming down immediately, and the house will be full from end to end; then half of the guests at least will arrive on Saturday. No, no, my good fellow, I cannot listen to you. Don’t keep me any longer. I can give no servants holidays until the ball is behind us instead of in front of us.” Jacob retired without a word.