We were none of us in a hurry. "A character," he said, "remains

just the same character for all that it's been disembodied. That's

a thing we too often forget. People with a certain strength or

fixity of purpose may have ghosts of a certain strength and fixity

of purpose--most haunting ghosts, you know, must be as one-idea'd

as monomaniacs and as obstinate as mules to come back again and again.

This poor creature wasn't." He suddenly looked up rather queerly, and

his eye went round the room. "I say it," he said, "in all kindliness,

but that is the plain truth of the case. Even at the first glance

he struck me as weak."



He punctuated with the help of his cigar.



"I came upon him, you know, in the long passage. His back was towards

me and I saw him first. Right off I knew him for a ghost. He was

transparent and whitish; clean through his chest I could see the glimmer

of the little window at the end. And not only his physique but

his attitude struck me as being weak. He looked, you know, as though

he didn't know in the slightest whatever he meant to do. One hand

was on the panelling and the other fluttered to his mouth. Like--SO!"



"What sort of physique?" said Sanderson.



"Lean. You know that sort of young man's neck that has two great

flutings down the back, here and here--so! And a little, meanish head

with scrubby hair--And rather bad ears. Shoulders bad, narrower

than the hips; turn-down collar, ready-made short jacket, trousers

baggy and a little frayed at the heels. That's how he took me.

I came very quietly up the staircase. I did not carry a light,

you know--the candles are on the landing table and there is that lamp--

and I was in my list slippers, and I saw him as I came up. I stopped

dead at that--taking him in. I wasn't a bit afraid. I think that

in most of these affairs one is never nearly so afraid or excited

as one imagines one would be. I was surprised and interested.

I thought, 'Good Lord! Here's a ghost at last! And I haven't believed

for a moment in ghosts during the last five-and-twenty years.'"



"Um," said Wish.



"I suppose I wasn't on the landing a moment before he found out I

was there. He turned on me sharply, and I saw the face of an immature

young man, a weak nose, a scrubby little moustache, a feeble chin.

So for an instant we stood--he looking over his shoulder at me

and regarded one another. Then he seemed to remember his high calling.

He turned round, drew himself up, projected his face, raised his arms,

spread his hands in approved ghost fashion--came towards me.

As he did so his little jaw dropped, and he emitted a faint, drawn-out

'Boo.' No, it wasn't--not a bit dreadful. I'd dined. I'd had a bottle

of champagne, and being all alone, perhaps two or three--perhaps



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