“No one, fortunately,” he said amiably. “Perhaps I shall stay quietly here and write my memoirs. Come! Eat your supper. You will not wish to cling to me after you have a few handsome beaux in your train. I am the only person you have to take care of you at the moment, but you will soon forget me.”

“Never!” said Alice, her eyes bright with tears.

“What a passionate child it is! Reserve your fervor for your husband. ’Fore George, you are become emotional! It is hunger, nothing more.”

“Don’t you have any feelings,” said Alice with a watery smile.

“Oh, yes,” he replied. “I did not leave anything at all behind me in the grave, it seems. I have come to the conclusion that I am a mistake of Time. For me, no angels sing or devils torment Voices do not reach me from above or below. Eat your food, do! I went into the family church last night to pray. I felt afraid all of a sudden of the supernatural which is odd, considering I am supernatural myself. Well, no great light shone on my road to Damascus.

“No great voice cried, ‘Repent!’ I am here and that is all I know. But I am a practical ghost. I shall simply accept it. Besides, just think of the benefits! We can speed to London through the night air. Think of what we shall save on tolls.”

Alice ate her food, listening to him gravely, trying not to be frightened of the day so soon to arrive when he would no longer be with her.

“I have been thinking,” he went on, “that it is dark in London at this time of year very early—by five o’clock at the latest. The jewelers’ establishments will still be open. I shall masquerade as a French émigré and sell the jewels for you. There! I shall have saved thee at least one ordeal. I shall stay with thee one week masquerading as thine uncle, so do dry thine eyes.”

Alice, who had begun to cry, did as she was bid, feeling all at once much happier. He would be with her a further week. She would not think beyond then.

She had a small but rich wardrobe of clothes, procured for her by the Duke, who steadfastly refused to say where he had come by them.

“I have never thanked you properly for all this,” said Alice shyly, a small wave of her hand encompassing the room, the wardrobe of clothes, the books and magazines and the food and wine on the table.

The Duke flushed slightly. “’Tis nothing, my child,” he said, his long fingers playing with the stem of his wine glass. “I’Faith, we grow sentimental. I am a selfish ghost. I am looking forward to sampling the modern delights of the ladies of London.”

A shadow crossed Alice’s expressive little face but either he did not notice, or would not.