And so ghosts are the only things in the world that frighten you—­even though you know that there aren’t any.  You and Madame de Stael, hey?  ’I do not believe in ghosts, but I fear them!’ It’s pretty painful to learn that the mere sight of one would turn you into a gibbering lunatic.  Nice sell for an enthusiastic spirit who’d romped clear back from heaven to give you a pleasant surprise—­I don’t think!  Well, no fear, young Janie—­I’ll find some way if I’m put to it—­some nice, safe, pretty way that wouldn’t scare a neurasthenic baby, let alone the dauntless Miss Abbott.  I’ll find—­”

Oh, no more of that—­no more!  She crushed the sheet in her hands fiercely, crumpling it into a little ball—­the candle-flame was too slow.  No, she couldn’t stand it—­she couldn’t—­she couldn’t, and there was an end to it.  She would go raving mad—­she would kill herself—­she would—­She lifted her head, wrenched suddenly back from that chaos of despair, alert and intent.  There it was again, coming swiftly nearer and nearer from some immeasurable distance—­down—­down—­nearer still—­the very room was humming and throbbing with it—­she could almost hear the singing in the wires.  She swung far out over the window edge, searching the moon-drenched garden with eager eyes—­surely, surely it would never fly so low unless it were about to land!  Engine trouble, perhaps—­though she could detect no break in the huge, rhythmic pulsing that was shaking the night.  Still—­

“Rosemary!” she called urgently.  “Rosemary—­listen—­is there a place where it can land?”

“Where what can land?” asked a drowsy voice.

“An airplane.  It’s flying so low that it must be in some kind of trouble—­do come and see!”

Rosemary came pattering obediently toward her, a small, docile figure, dark eyes misted with dreams, wide with amazement.

“I must be nine-tenths asleep,” she murmured gently.  “Because I don’t hear a single thing, Janet.  Perhaps—­”

“Hush—­listen!” begged Janet, raising an imperative hand—­and then her own eyes widened.  “Why—­it’s gone!” There was a note of flat incredulity in her voice.  “Heavens, how those things must eat up space!  Not a minute, ago it was fairly shaking this room, and now—­”

Rosemary stifled a small pink yawn and smiled ingratiatingly.

“Perhaps you were asleep too,” she suggested humbly.  “I don’t believe that airplanes ever fly this way any more.  Or it might have been that fat Hodges boy on his motorcycle—­he does make the most dreadful racket.  Oh, Janet, what a perfectly ripping night—­do see!”