My terrors haunted me all day. They were with me at breakfast time when
Lady Carwitchet, tripping in smiling, made a last attempt to induce me to
accompany her and keep her "bad, bad boy" from getting among "those horrid
betting men."
They haunted me through the long peaceful day with Leta and the
_tete-a-tete_ dinner, but they swarmed around and beset me sorest when,
sitting alone over my sitting-room fire, I listened for the return of the
drag party. I read my newspaper and brewed myself some hot strong drink,
but there comes a time of night when no fire can warm and no drink can
cheer. The bishop's despairing face kept me company, and his troubles and
the wrongs of the future heir took possession of me. Then the uncanny
noises that make all old houses ghostly during the small hours began to
make themselves heard. Muffled footsteps trod the corridor, stopping to
listen at every door, door latches gently clicked, boards creaked
unreasonably, sounds of stealthy movements came from the locked-up
bathroom. The welcome crash of wheels at last, and the sound of the
front-door bell. I could hear Lady Carwitchet making her shrill _adieux_
to her friends and her steps in the corridor. She was softly humming a
little song as she approached. I heard her unlock her bedroom door before
she entered--an odd thing to do.
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