"All right," said Charlie, with much content. He enjoyed himself more in the garden, for, while Lady Merceron and her brother in law took counsel, he strolled through the moonlit shrubberies with Mrs. Marland, and Mrs. Marland was very sympathetically interested in him and his pursuits. She was a little eager woman, the very antithesis in body and mind to Millie Bushell; she had plenty of brains but very little sense, a good deal of charm but no beauty, and, without any counterbalancing defect at all, a hearty liking for handsome young men. She had also a husband in the City. "Ghost-hunting again to-night, Mr. Merceron?" she asked, glancing up at Charlie, who was puffing happily at a cigar. "Yes," he answered, "I'm very regular." "And did you see anyone? "I saw Millie Bushell." "Miss Bushell's hardly ghost-like, is she?" "We'll," said Charlie meditatively, "I suppose if one was fat oneself one's ghost would be fat, wouldn't it?" Mrs. Marland, letting the problem alone, laughed softly. "Poor Miss Bushell! If she heard you say that! Or if Lady Merceron heard you!" "It would hardly surprise my mother to hear that I thought Millie Bushell plump. She is plump, you know;" and Charlie's eyes expressed a candid homage to truth. "Oh, I know what's being arranged for you." "So do I." "And you'll do it. Oh, you think you won't, but you will. Men always end by doing what they're told." "Does Mr. Marland?" "He begins by it," laughed his wife. "Is that why he's not coming till Saturday week?" "Mr. Merceron! But what was Miss Bushell doing at the Pool? Did she come to find you?" "Oh, no; just for a walk." "Poor girl!" "Why--it's good for her." "I didn't mean the walk," "I'd blush if there was light enough to make it any use, Mrs. Marland." "Oh, but I know there's something. You don't go there every evening to look for a dead lady, Mr. Merceron." Charlie stopped short, and took his cigar from his mouth. "What?" he asked, a little abruptly. "Well, I shall follow you some day, and I shouldn't be surprised if I met--not Agatha--but----" "Well?" asked Charlie, with an uncertain smile. "Why, poor Miss Bushell!" Charlie laughed and replaced his cigar. "What are we standing still for?" he said. "I don't know. You stopped. She'd be such an ideal match for you." "Then I should never have done for you, Mrs. Marland." "My dear boy, I was married when you were still in Eton collars." They had completed the circuit of the garden, and now approached where Lady Merceron sat, enveloped in a shawl. "Charlie!" she called. "Here's a letter from Victor Button. He's coming to-morrow." "I didn't know you'd asked him," said Charlie, with no sign of pleasure at the news. Victor had been at school and college with Charlie, and often, in his holidays, at the Court, for he was Sir Victor's godson. Yet Charlie did not love him. For the rest, he was very rich, and was understood to cut something of a figure in London society.