You are as white as a sheet. Are you ill?"

"No, no, I'm not ill. Do be quiet, Jack. What a row you're making! I do
feel a little seedy; it's these horrid cigars of yours."

"Nonsense!" retorted Jack Severn. "You couldn't get better ones; it
isn't that. I believe you've seen the ghost of old Lady Severn, my
great-grandmother, walking with her head in her hands. This is the time
of year she always turns up. It must be the spring house-cleaning that
disturbs her rest. _Did_ you see her? I've sat up night after night to
try and catch sight of the old lady, and I've always missed her.
Where was she? Tell me quickly. I'll run after her."

"I didn't see your great-grandmother or anybody else, so do stop
chattering, Jack, and for goodness' sake let me hear that song," said
McAllister irritably.

"Well, well," muttered Jack Severn to himself, "I never saw The
McAllister in such a temper before. As a rule, he is too lazy to be
angry at anything, I really think he must be ill."

Mademoiselle Laurentia finished singing. The McAllister's thoughts by
this time were far away on the pebbly beach at Father Point, where the
tide was coming in rippling over the stones, and his memory had gone back
to an evening ten years ago. He was again standing beside a huge boulder,
on which sat a girl in a pink cotton frock. She was singing in a sweet
low voice:

"Il y a longtemps que je t'aime,
Jamais je ne t'oublierai."