“My Lady Alice,” he teased. “You see what respect the clothes of my youth engender? Now we shall dine and I shall tell you my plan. Hot food, my child. And cakes to delight your young heart. A fine goose, is it not? I simply walked into the kitchen and took it. Your friend the Cook threw her apron over her head and quivered like a blancmange.

“But she durst not cry ‘Ghost!’ or she will lose her employ. I am not in the least sorry for her. She is a coarse devil of a woman but, ’fore George, she cooks like an angel. Oh, use your fingers. You will send the whole plateful on the floor with your amateurish proddings and pokings.”

Alice ate a hearty meal, finishing with several cakes and strawberry tartlets. She again drank a great deal too much strong wine, and between that and the heat from the fire and the magnetic presence of the Duke, she felt as if she were living in some highly colored dream from which she must soon awake and find herself lying on the scullery floor.

“Now,” said the ghost, pouring her a bumper of brandy, “A toast. Spirits to the spirit!”

Alice took a sip and choked. He suddenly leaned across the table and took the glass from her.

“Too much for you, my child. I forgot. You are but a babe. See, I have brought lemonade which is what I meant to pour you in the first place. Now—to business!”

Alice sighed a little. She did not want to be reminded that there was a future outside this cozy room.

“French!” he said, producing a small pile of volumes. “You are to become French.”

“But I be English,” protested Alice.

“Yes. Yes. But how am I to eradicate that country burr of yours in such a short time? Much easier to learn another language. And, after all, it is a good background for you. There are still many titled French émigrés in London selling their jewels to supply them with an income. You, my Alice, shall become Alice, Comtesse de la Valle-Chenevix. Alice is an English name, but there are many French families who once considered it chic to give their offspring English or Irish names. So Comtesse, let us begin.”

“I’ll never do it, that I won’t,” sniveled Alice.

“Stop that this instant!” snapped the ghost. “Here is a handkerchief. It is to be used for wiping your nose when you whimper and do not let me catch you wiping your nose on your sleeve again. Faugh!”

“Oh, leave me alone!” wailed Alice, red with shame. “I’ll never be a lady.”

“Then get back to the kitchens where you belong, you spineless baggage,” he said heartlessly. “This is what comes of bestowing my distinguished time and attention on a sniveling…”

“Stop!” cried Alice, covering her ears. “I’ll do it!”