“Can’t I?” said Aubrey.

“Nonsense!” said Mrs. Mifflin, laying down her knitting.  “Neither of you knows anything about the stock.  Sit down and be comfortable.  I’ll be right back.”

Aubrey and Titania looked at each other with a touch of embarrassment.

“Your father sent you his—­his kind regards,” said Aubrey.  That was not what he had intended to say, but somehow he could not utter the word.  “He said not to read all the books at once.”

Titania laughed.  “How funny that you should run into him just when you were coming here.  He’s a duck, isn’t he?”

“Well, you see I only know him in a business way, but he certainly is a corker.  He believes in advertising, too.”

“Are you crazy about books?”

“Why, I never really had very much to do with them.  I’m afraid you’ll think I’m terribly ignorant——­”

“Not at all.  I’m awfully glad to meet someone who doesn’t think it’s a crime not to have read all the books there are.”

“This is a queer kind of place, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s a funny idea to call it the Haunted Bookshop. 
I wonder what it means.”

“Mr. Mifflin told me it meant haunted by the ghosts of great literature.  I hope they won’t annoy you.  The ghost of Thomas Carlyle seems to be pretty active.”

“I’m not afraid of ghosts,” said Titania.

Aubrey gazed at the fire.  He wanted to say that he intended from now on to do a little haunting on his own account but he did not know just how to break it gently.  And then Roger returned from the cellar with the bottle of sherry.  As he was uncorking it, they heard the shop door close, and Mrs. Mifflin came in.

“Well, Roger,” she said; “if you think so much of your old Cromwell, you’d better keep it in here.  Here it is.”  She laid the book on the table.

“For the love of Mike!” exclaimed Roger.  “Who brought it back?”

“I guess it was your friend the assistant chef,” said Mrs. Mifflin.  “Anyway, he had a beard like a Christmas tree.  He was mighty polite.  He said he was terribly absent minded, and that the other day he was in here looking at some books and just walked off with it without knowing what he was doing.  He offered to pay for the trouble he had caused, but of course I wouldn’t let him.  I asked if he wanted to see you, but he said he was in a hurry.”

“I’m almost disappointed,” said Roger.  “I thought that I had turned up a real booklover.  Here we are, all hands drink the health of Mr. Thomas Carlyle.”

The toast was drunk, and they settled themselves in their chairs.

“And here’s to the new employee,” said Helen.  This also was dispatched, Aubrey draining his glass with a zeal which did not escape Miss Chapman’s discerning eye.  Roger then put out his hand for the Dickens.  But first he picked up his beloved Cromwell.  He looked at it carefully, and then held the volume close to the light.