“What is love?” demanded the ghost, refilling his glass and settling down to a pleasurable dissertation. “It is frustrated lust, nothing more. What is marriage? Legalized lust. People fall in love because they do not know how to keep their lives simple. They have to go and mess it up by not only taking themselves too seriously but someone else as well. It is a bad basis for marriage for, after the first dizzy raptures are over, what do we find? A man and a woman, disillusioned and bored. That is what makes them seek extramarital affairs. That…”

“Stop!” cried Alice, putting her hands over her ears.

“I beg your pardon,” said the Duke haughtily, “but I was in the middle of explaining one of my pet theories. You lack manners.”

“Have you no heart?” cried Alice.

“Of course I have, you silly chit. I have that same organ that I took to the grave with me. It beats. It pumps blood. It did not fall in love when I was alive, so I think it is safe to assume it will not now I am dead. Now, where was I?”

“You were talking about disillusionment,” said Alice in a dead voice. “Tiens! Quelle bětise!”

“There is no need to be rude in French as well as English. Obviously you do not share my views. Yes, I shall stay with you for a few weeks. I think I should guide you in your choice of husband. There is not much to choose from here until the beginning of the Little Season but we shall do our best. While I am on the subject, it is not a good idea to let your swains kiss you and fondle you as you say young Webb did. Familiarities breed contempt. Keep a respectable distance until you are wed. It is strange to me to think of any man wishing to be intimate with you. Perhaps it is because I view you in the light of the niece you pretend to be. You are looking quite white and exhausted, my child. Do you wish to go to bed?”

“No,” said Alice in a small voice.

“In that case we shall retire to the drawing room.”

Alice meekly allowed herself to be led through to the drawing room. She could not understand why she felt so sad and depressed. He was not going away. He was to stay with her. That was all she had longed and prayed for. Wasn’t it?

“The night is chilly for summer,” said the Duke. “I shall light a fire. Ah! I do not have to light my own fires anymore.” He moved to ring the bell for a servant.

“Don’t,” said Alice. “I told the servants they could retire after we had finished our supper.”

“Did you not think of my pleasure?” he demanded.

“I thought only of the servants,” said Alice quietly. “It is not so long since I was one myself.”