"You can't lay hold of a ghost, Maria, unless those gentry have undergone a radical change. For my part, I am much obliged to Bob. It was out of consideration for you that he did not mention it at first." "Mr. Millet was very kind, I am sure," she said stiffly; and then, addressing him as though she would give him another chance, "Are you acquainted with the last tenant?" "No, I have never seen him." "What is his name?" "I do not know." "Where does he live?" "I do not know." "Now, _do_ you think," she said, quizzing him, "that it is quite fair to take away the character of an empty house upon such slender grounds? It is like hitting a man when he's down, which I have heard is not considered manly." "I assure you," replied Bob gravely, "that what I have said has been said with the best intentions." "No doubt," said my wife composedly, meaning quite the other thing. "Edward, our best plan will be to go and look over the house the first thing in the morning." "That settles it, Bob," I said, "for the present, at all events. What do you say to coming here tomorrow evening and hearing our report of the house?" He looked at my wife, as if doubtful whether a second visit would be agreeable to her; but she nodded pleasantly, and said: "Yes, come, Mr. Millet; perhaps we shall be able to surprise you." "Thank you," said Bob, and we talked of old times with rather eager readiness, and for the rest of the evening carefully avoided the subject which had so nearly brought him to grief. At ten o'clock he took his departure, and a few minutes afterward Maria and I retired to our bedroom. "Good-night, dear," she said, in her most amiable tone, as I put out the light. "Good-night, dear," I replied, and disposed myself for sleep. We are both healthy sleepers, and generally go off like a top, as the saying is, a very short time after our heads touch the pillows. But this night proved to be an exception, for we must have lain quite a quarter of an hour in darkness when my wife began to speak. "Are you asleep, Edward?" "No, Maria." "Do you know," she said drowsily, "I have a funny idea in my head." "Have you?" "Yes. It is that you and Mr. Millet laid a little plot for me." "It isn't a funny idea, Maria; it is a perfectly absurd idea." "That is what _you_ say, dear; it is never agreeable to be found out. I dare say you thought yourselves very clever. It hasn't raised my opinion of Mr. Millet. I should have liked to believe him a different kind of person." "Whatever are you driving at, Maria?" I said. "Bob Millet is the simplest fellow in the world, and is incapable of laying a plot." "Oh, there's no telling. You were old playmates, and he is anxious to please you; he will find out by and by, perhaps, that I am not quite the simpleton he takes me for." "Poor old Bob!" I thought. "His ill-luck sticks to him." Aloud I said, "You are a conundrum, Maria; I shall give you up." "Better give up the plot," she said pleasantly.