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Tennis.

She's frightfully hot stuff at tennis, and backed herself to take me on level.

I'm rather erratic, you know.

Mark saw us going out with our rackets and asked us what we were going to do.

Well, he'd got up a little tournament for us after tea-handicaps all arranged by him, and everything ruled out neatly in red and black ink-prizes and all-quite decent ones, you know.

He'd had the lawn specially cut and marked for it.

Well, of course Betty and I wouldn't have spoilt the court, and we'd have been quite ready to play again after tea-I had to give her half-fifteen according to his handicap-but somehow-" Bill stopped and shrugged his shoulders.

"It didn't quite fit in?"

"No. It spoilt the effect of his tournament. Took the edge off it just a little, I suppose he felt. So we didn't play." He laughed, and added, "It would have been as much as our place was worth to have played."

"Do you mean you wouldn't have been asked here again?"

"Probably. Well, I don't know. Not for some time, anyway."

"Really, Bill?"

"Oh, rather! He's a devil for taking offence. That Miss Norris, did you see her? She's done for herself. I don't mind betting what you like that she never comes here again."

"Why?"

Bill laughed to himself.

"We were all in it, really-at least, Betty and I were. There's supposed to be a ghost attached to the house. Lady Anne Patten. Ever heard of her?"

"Never."

"Mark told us about her at dinner one night.

He rather liked the idea of there being a ghost in his house, you know; except that he doesn't believe in ghosts.

I think he wanted all of us to believe in her, and yet he was annoyed with Betty and Mrs. Calladine for believing in ghosts at all.

Rum chap.

Well, anyhow, Miss Norris-she's an actress, some actress too-dressed up as the ghost and played the fool a bit.

And poor Mark was frightened out of his life.

Just for a moment, you know."

"What about the others?"

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