Alice sat down with a weary smile. She had become accustomed to sharing part of her worries with Miss Fadden. The companion was so quiet and noncommittal, it was rather like talking to oneself. And so, after some hesitation, Alice began to explain why she could no longer hope for a marriage with Sir Peregrine Dunster. So sympathetic a listener was Miss Cassandra Fadden that Alice found herself telling Miss Fadden for the first time about the amount of money she had lent Sir Peregrine. “Or I should say gave,” she ended with another little sigh, “for I fear he is never going to have the means to pay me back.”

To her relief, her companion did not look in the least shocked, merely contenting herself with leaning forward and pressing Alice’s hand.

“So,” Alice went on, “I shall have to disengage myself from being escorted everywhere by Sir Peregrine. It is a pity. He is such a merry young man. He made me forget…” Her voice trailed away for she could not possibly tell Miss Fadden or anyone, for that matter, of her ghost. “He is to call for me in an hour, Miss Fadden, to take me driving in the Park. Perhaps you would be so good as to tell him I have the headache.”

“My dear, indeed I shall,” said little Miss Fadden warmly. “In fact, you are looking rather strained. Perhaps it would be a good idea if you lay down in your bedchamber. You must not worry about Sir Peregrine. I shall explain matters very tactfully.”

Alice smiled wearily and agreed to go and lie down. Poor meek Miss Fadden, thought Alice as she trailed up the stairs. She hoped her companion was able to cope with such a robust suitor.

Fair curls in artistic disarray, blue eyes twinkling with good humor, Sir Peregrine presented himself at the appointed hour. He was ushered into the drawing room to find its sole occupant, Miss Fadden, who was sitting knitting a pair of wool garters.

“Her ladyship getting ready?” asked Sir Peregrine cheerfully as he helped himself liberally from the decanter.

“Sit down, my young cully,” ordered a harsh voice. Sir Peregrine turned round and gazed about the room in amazement but there was no one other than the little elderly companion who had put down her knitting and was regarding him with a fixed stare.

“Who…?” he began.

“I said, ‘Sit down,’” grated Miss Fadden.

Sir Peregrine subsided into a chair and stared at her, wide-eyed.

The companion’s normally vague face seemed to have grown harsh lines and to have coarsened somehow.

“Lookee here,” went on Miss Fadden, still in that frighteningly gruff voice. “You think that phiz of yours is your fortune and so far you ain’t done too bad, have you, my bucko?”

Sir Peregrine opened and shut his mouth like a landed pike and finally found his voice. “How dare you, madam!”