Why should she go? Why should she rush off to the battle of wills with her mother-in-law? In such a battle, while one has any life to lose, one can only lose it. There is nothing positively to be done, but to withdraw out of the hateful tension. The music ran down. Lord Lathkill stopped the Victrola. "Carlotta gone?" he said. "Apparently." "Why didn't you stop her?" "Wild horses wouldn't stop her." He lifted his hand with a mocking gesture of helplessness. "The lady loves her will," he said. "Would you like to dance?" I looked at Mrs. Hale. "No," I said. "I won't butt in. I'll play the pianola. The Victrola's a brute." I hardly noticed the passage of time. Whether the others danced or not, I played, and was unconscious of almost everything. In the midst of one rattling piece. Lord Lathkill touched my arm. "Listen to Carlotta. She says closing time," he said, in his old musical voice, but with the sardonic ring of war in it now. Carlotta stood with her arms dangling, looking like a penitent schoolgirl. "The Colonel has gone to bed. He hasn't been able to manage a reconciliation with Lucy," she said. "My mother-in-law thinks we ought to let him try to sleep." Carlotta's slow eyes rested on mine, questioning, penitent--or so I imagined--and somewhat sphinx-like. "Why, of course," said Lord Lathkill. "I wish him all the sleep in the world." Mrs. Hale said never a word. "Is Mother retiring too?" asked Luke. "I think so." "Ah! then supposing we go up and look at the supper-tray." We found Lady Lathkill mixing herself some night-cap brew over a spirit-lamp: something milky and excessively harmless. She stood at the sideboard stirring her potations, and hardly noticed us. When she had finished she sat down with her steaming cup. "Colonel Hale all right, Mother?" said Luke, looking across at her. The dowager, under her uplift of white hair, stared back at her son. There was an eye-battle for some moments, during which he maintained his arch, debonair ease, just a bit crazy. "No," said Lady Lathkill, "he is in great trouble." "Ah!" replied her son. "Awful pity we can't do anything for him. But if flesh and blood can't help him, I'm afraid I'm a dud. Suppose he didn't mind our dancing? Frightfully good for _us_! We've been forgetting that we're flesh and blood. Mother." He took another whisky and soda, and gave me one. And in a paralysing silence Lady Lathkill sipped her hot brew, Luke and I sipped our whiskies, the young woman ate a little sandwich. We all preserved an extraordinary aplomb, and an obstinate silence. It was Lady Lathkill who broke it. She seemed to be sinking downwards, crouching into herself like a skulking animal. "I suppose," she said, "we shall all go to bed?" "You go, Mother. We'll come along in a moment." She went, and for some time we four sat silent. The room seemed to become pleasanter, the air was more grateful. "Look here," said Lord Lathkill at last. "What do you think of this ghost business?"