Where--?
When--?
Then he seemed to hear a voice whispering beside him, a very soft, vibrant voice: "Oh, I'm such a poor little fool; _do_ tell me when I do wrong." The solution came in a flash and he had a quick, glad memory of Isabelle.
He found a blank space on his programme, and began to scribble rapidly: "Here in the figured dark I watch once more, There, with the curtain, roll the years away; Two years of years--there was an idle day Of ours, when happy endings didn't bore Our unfermented souls; I could adore Your eager face beside me, wide-eyed, gay, Smiling a repertoire while the poor play Reached me as a faint ripple reaches shore.
"Yawning and wondering an evening through, I watch alone...

and chatterings, of course, Spoil the one scene which, somehow, _did_ have charms; You wept a bit, and I grew sad for you Right here! Where Mr.X defends divorce And What's-Her-Name falls fainting in his arms." ***** STILL CALM "Ghosts are such dumb things," said Alec, "they're slow-witted.

I can always outguess a ghost." "How ?" asked Tom.
"Well, it depends where.

Take a bedroom, for example.

If you use _any_ discretion a ghost can never get you in a bedroom." "Go on, s'pose you think there's maybe a ghost in your bedroom--what measures do you take on getting home at night ?" demanded Amory, interested.
"Take a stick" answered Alec, with ponderous reverence, "one about the length of a broom-handle.