BELDON (_jumps up, gets behind his chair, twists chair round;
nervously_). O, I say, that'll do. I wish you'd thought to ask your
father which bedroom it was.

PENFOLD. What for?

BELDON. Well, I should take jolly good care not to sleep in it, that's
all. (_Goes to back._)

(_PENFOLD rising, goes to fire, and knocks out his pipe, Leek gets by
arm-chair._)

PENFOLD. There's nothing to fear. I don't believe for a moment that
ghosts could really hurt one. (_GEORGE lights candle at table._) In
fact, my father used to say that it was only the unpleasantness of the
thing that upset him, and that, for all practical purposes, Jerry's
fingers might have been made of cotton wool for all the harm they could
do.

(_GEORGE hands candle, gets to door and holds it open._)

BELDON. That's all very fine, a ghost story is a ghost story, but when a
gentleman tells a tale of a ghost that haunts the house in which one is
going to sleep, I call it most ungentlemanly.

(_BELDON places his chair to L. of table R. PENFOLD goes up to C. LEEK
sits in arm chair. BELDON goes to fireplace._)

PENFOLD. Pooh! Nonsense. (_At table up C._).