The afternoon passed to its close, Lucy reading a bit and working a bit to beguile the time. Whether the book or the work lay before her, her mind was alike far away, brooding over the trouble that could never leave it. Then she went down to dinner in her evening dress of silk. No stranger was present: only herself, Karl, and Theresa. It was generally thus: neither she nor he had spirits to bring guests about them often. Theresa told them of a slight accident that had happened at the station that afternoon, and it served for a topic of conversation. Dinner was barely over when Miss Diana Moore called in. She was not given to time her visits ceremoniously; but she was always welcome, for Karl and Lucy both liked her. Miss Diana generally gave them the news of the place, and she began now. In some inexplicable manner the conversation turned on the Maze. At least, something was said that caused the place to be incidentally mentioned, and it served to draw Miss Diana's thoughts to what they might otherwise not have reverted to. "The senseless geese that people are!" she cried. "Did you hear of that ghost story that arose about the Maze?" Karl bit his lip. Lucy looked at Miss Diana: she had heard nothing. "Mother Jinks told me to my face the other day that there could not be a doubt it was Mr. Throcton's son haunting it. My brother--Mr. Moore--had seen it, she said, as well as Nurse Chaffen: a gentleman in evening dress, who appeared to them and vanished away again. She believed it, too." "I fancy it has been rather more materially accounted for," put in Miss Blake, not at all sorry of the opportunity to give a side fling at Sir Karl. "Well, what I hear people have found out now is, that the ghost was only Sir Karl Andinnian, who had called in there after or before his dinner," said Miss Diana, laughing. "What do you say to it, Sir Karl?" Sir Karl did not know what to say. On the one hand it was most essential to do away, if possible, With the impression that any strange gentleman had been at the Maze; on the other, he did not care to admit that he paid evening visits there. Of the two evils, however, the last was the least. "It may have been myself, Miss Diana. I cannot say, I'm sure. I remember I went over one evening, and stayed a few minutes." "But it was while Mrs. Grey was ill with fever." "Just so. I went to enquire after her." "Well, I suppose it was you, then: I asked William about it, but he is as close as wax when he likes, and professed not to know what I was talking of. One thing is clear, that he could not have recognised you, Sir Karl. It was nearly dark, I believe. That little baby at the Maze is very delicate." "By the way, Miss Diana, talking of such people, what does Mr. Moore think of poor Whittle's widow?" asked Sir Karl. "My wife says she is very ill." The conversation was turned--Sir Karl's object in speaking. Miss Diana talked of Mrs. Whittle, and then went on to other subjects.