one that night, and he went home determined to call as early as he could the next afternoon, and make an end of it.  When he left his office about two o’clock the next day to learn his fate, he had not walked five blocks before he discovered that the wraith of the Duncans had withdrawn his opposition to the suit.  There was no feeling of impending evil, no resistance, no struggle, no consciousness of an opposing presence.  Eliphalet was greatly encouraged.  He walked briskly to the hotel; he found Miss Sutton alone.  He asked her the question, and got his answer.”

“She accepted him, of course,” said Baby Van Rensselaer.

“Of course,” said Uncle Larry.  “And while they were in the first flush of joy, swapping confidences and confessions, her brother came into the parlor with an expression of pain on his face and a telegram in his hand.  The former was caused by the latter, which was from ’Frisco, and which announced the sudden death of Mrs. Sutton, their mother.”

“And that was why the ghost no longer opposed the match?” questioned Dear Jones.

“Exactly.  You see, the family ghost knew that Mother Gorgon was an awful obstacle to Duncan’s happiness, so it warned him.  But the moment the obstacle was removed, it gave its consent at once.”

The fog was lowering its thick damp curtain, and it was beginning to be difficult to see from one end of the boat to the other.  Dear Jones tightened the rug which enwrapped Baby Van Rensselaer, and then withdrew again into his own substantial coverings.

Uncle Larry paused in his story long enough to light another of the tiny cigars he always smoked.

“I infer that Lord Duncan”—­the Duchess was scrupulous in the bestowal of titles—­“saw no more of the ghosts after he was married.”

“He never saw them at all, at any time, either before or since.  But they came very near breaking off the match, and thus breaking two young hearts.”

“You don’t mean to say that they knew any just cause or impediment why they should not forever after hold their peace?” asked Dear Jones.

“How could a ghost, or even two ghosts, keep a girl from marrying the man she loved?” This was Baby Van Rensselaer’s question.

“It seems curious, doesn’t it?” and Uncle Larry tried to warm himself by two or three sharp pulls at his fiery little cigar.  “And the circumstances are quite as curious as the fact itself.  You see, Miss Sutton wouldn’t be married for a year after her mother’s death, so she and Duncan had lots of time to tell each other all they knew.  Eliphalet, he got to know a good deal about the girls she went to school with, and Kitty, she learned all about his family.  He didn’t tell her about the title for a long time, as he wasn’t one to brag.  But he described to her the little old house at Salem.  And one evening toward the end of the summer, the wedding-day having been appointed for early in September, she told him that she didn’t