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"Why, by the stars and stripes, there is a ghost in the gallery!" exclaimed Miss Corrisande K. Trumpet, pointing to me. The faint glimmer of my white velvet tea-gown must have caught her eyes as I moved away. "No, I am not a ghost," I called, "and I am coming down to eat hot muffins." So I crossed and descended the turret stairs. Lady Tilchester had not appeared yet.
"It would be as well to know their name," he said, as he sauntered after her trailing skirts. "Cadwallader Miss Martina B. Cadwallader that is the aunt, and Miss Corrisande K. Trumpet that is the niece," said Lady Grenellen, stalking ahead. The windows of the long gallery where we were all sitting looked onto the court-yard, and two flys passed the angle of the turret.
Even Miss Corrisande K. Trumpet did not flatten me out as you do," he said, with feigned resentment. "You told me in the beginning I looked unlike the Englishwomen. Well, I am unlike them. I am a person of bad nature. I refuse to be bored." "And I bore you?" "Only when you talk silly sentiment." "Then it is a bargain. If I don't bore you, you will be friends with me?"
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