"If the ghost is--all that remains of the gentleman over the fireplace," said Mrs. Dashwood, "I hope he doesn't appear often." She was still glancing back at the portrait. "Isn't it exciting?" said Gwen. "The ghost appears whenever anything is going to happen----" "My dear Gwen," said Lady Dashwood, "in that case the ghost might as well bring his bag and baggage and remain here." "What sort of ghost?" asked Mrs. Dashwood. "Oh, only an eighteenth-century ghost--the ghost of the college barber," said Lady Dashwood. "When that man was Warden, the college barber went and cut his throat in the Warden's Library." "What for?" asked Mrs. Dashwood simply. "Because the Warden insisted on his doing the Fellows' hair in the new elaborate style of the period--on his old wages." Mrs. Dashwood pondered, still looking at the portrait. "I should have cut the Warden's throat--not my own," she said, "if I had, on my old wages, to curl and crimp instead of merely putting a bowl on the gentlemen's heads and snipping round." "But he had his revenge," said Gwen eagerly, "he comes and shows himself in the Library when a Warden dies." Lady Dashwood had not during these last few minutes been really thinking of the Warden or of the college barber, nor of his ghost. She was thinking that it was characteristic of Gwen to be excited by and interested in a silly ghost story--and it was equally characteristic of her to be unable to tell the story correctly. "He is supposed to appear in the Library when anything disastrous is going to happen to a Warden," she said, and no sooner were the words out of her mouth than she paused and began thinking of what she was saying. "Anything disastrous to a Warden!" She had not thought of the matter before--Jim was now Warden! Anything disastrous! A marriage may be a disaster. Death is not so disastrous as utter disappointment with life and the pain of an empty heart! "Come along, May," she said, trying to suppress a shiver that went through her frame. "Come along, May. Goodness gracious, it's nearly eight o'clock and we are going to dine at eight fifteen!" "I can dress in two shakes," said May Dashwood. "I've asked Mr. Boreham," said Lady Dashwood, pushing her niece gently before her towards the door and blessing her--in her under-thoughts ("Bless you, May, dear dear May!"). "He talked so much about you the other day," she went on aloud, "that when I got your wire--I felt bound to ask him--I hope you don't mind." "Nobody does mind Mr. Boreham," said May. "I haven't seen him--for years." "You know his aunt left him Chartcote, so he has taken to haunting Oxford for the last three months. Talk of ghosts----"