" "Most likely," observed Jonathan, with a slight sneer; "the ghost of some highwayman who has just breathed his last in Newgate, no doubt. Leave the room! leave the house, Sir! and enter it again at your peril. A young man was playing the banjo. The sound of their strident voices floated upwards, the high nasal note of the predominant Americans, the shrill laughter of girls quick to appreciate the wit of such of their male companions as thought it worth while to be amusing. He understood now that it was a part of her inheritance. “Idiots!” she said, when she heard this pandemonium, and with particular reference to this young lady with the throaty contralto next door. The poor things! Oh, it was quite dreadful. But it was only six-thirty.
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