“She says she has no fault to find with me, no fault to find with the arrangements of my house,” pursued Lady Verner.  “Then I want to know what else it is that should drive her away from Deerham.  Look at her, Lionel!  That is how she stands—­unable to give me an answer.”

Lady Verner might equally well have said, Look at Lionel. He stood self-conscious also.  Too well he knew the motive—­absence from him—­which had actuated Lucy.  From him, the married man; the man who had played her false; away, anywhere, from witnessing the daily happiness of him and his wife.  He read it all, and Lucy saw that he did.

“It were no such strange wish, surely, to be where my dear papa is!” she exclaimed, the crimson of her cheeks turning to scarlet.

“No,” murmured Lionel, “no such strange wish.  I wish I could go to India, and free the neighbourhood of my presence!”

A curious wish!  Lady Verner did not understand it.  Lionel gave her no opportunity to inquire its meaning, for he turned to quit the room and the house.  She rose and laid her hand upon his arm to detain him.

“I have an engagement,” pleaded Lionel.

“A moment yet.  Lionel, what is this nonsense that is disturbing the equanimity of Deerham?  About a ghost!”

“Ah, what indeed?” returned Lionel, in a careless tone, as if he would make light of it.  “You know what Deerham is, mother.  Some think Dan Duff saw his own shadow; some, a white cow in the pound.  Either is sufficient marvel for Deerham.”

“So vulgar a notion!” reiterated Lady Verner, resuming her seat, and taking her essence bottle in her delicately gloved hand.  “I wonder you don’t stop it, Lionel.”

“I!” cried Lionel, opening his eyes in considerable surprise.  “How am I to stop it?”

“You are the Lord of Deerham.  It is vulgar, I say, to have such a report afloat on your estate.”

Lionel smiled.  “I don’t know how you are to put away vulgarity from stargazers and villagers.  Or ghosts either—­if they once get ghosts in their heads.”

He finally left the Court, and turned towards home.  His mother’s words about the ghost had brought the subject to his mind; if, indeed, it had required bringing; but the whispered communication of the vicar the previous night had scarcely been out of his thoughts since.  It troubled him.  In spite of himself, of his good sense and reason, there was an undercurrent of uneasiness at work within him.  Why should there be?  Lionel could not have explained had he been required to do it.  That Frederick Massingbird was dead and buried, there could be no shade of doubt; and ghosts had no place in the creed of Lionel Verner.  All true; but the consciousness of uneasiness was there, and he could not ignore it.