They were met in the porch by the bachelor rector.  “This is really kind!” he exclaimed.  “And it will be of the greatest help, for I’ve been sent for to a neighbouring parish unexpectedly, and I’m afraid that I can’t stop and help you.”

As the little party passed through into the church, more than one of them was impressed by its lofty beauty.  Indeed, the word which rose to both Sir Lyon’s and Donnington’s lips was the word “impressive.”  Neither of them had ever seen so impressive a country church.

When lifted from the donkey-cart the little heap of holly and other greenery looked pitifully small lying on the stone floor of the central aisle; and though everyone worked with a will, there wasn’t very much to show for it when Mr. Tapster declared, in a cross tone, that it must be getting near tea-time.

“It’s much more nearly finished than any of you realize,” said Bubbles good-humouredly.  “I’ve done this sort of thing every year since I was quite a kid.  Bill and I will come down after tea and finish it up.  We shan’t want you.”

“I shouldn’t mind coming back,” exclaimed Helen Brabazon.  “I’ve enjoyed every minute of the time here!”

But Bubbles declared that she didn’t want any of them but Bill.  All she would ask the other men to do would be to cut down some trails of ivy.  She explained that she always avoided the use of ivy unless, as in this case, quantity rather than quality was required.

So they all tramped cheerfully back to Wyndfell Hall.

Tea was served in the library, and the host looked on with benign satisfaction at the lively scene, though Blanche Farrow saw his face change and stiffen, when his penetrating eyes rested in turn for a long moment on Bubbles’ now laughing little face.  Perhaps because of that frowning look, she drew the girl after her into the hall.  “Come in here for a moment, Bubbles—­I want to speak to you.  I’ve just heard Helen Brabazon say something about raising the ghost.  No more seances while I’m in command here—­is that understood?”

And Bubbles looked up with an injured, innocent expression.  “Of course it’s understood!  Though, as a matter of fact, Miss Burnaby has already asked me to give her a private sitting.”

“You must promise me to refuse, Bubbles—­” Miss Farrow spoke very decidedly.  “I don’t know how you do what you did last night, and, to tell you the truth, I don’t care—­for it’s none of my business.  But there was one moment this morning when I feared that horrid Mr. Burnaby was going to take his sister and his niece away—­and that really would have been serious!”

“Serious?” queried Bubbles.  “Why serious, Blanche?  We should have got on very well without them.”

Her aunt looked round.  They were quite alone, standing, for the moment, in a far corner of the great room, near the finely carved confessional box, which seemed, even to Blanche Farrow, an incongruous addition to the furniture.