"Ruin?" Hewson echoed.

"Yes, ruin," St. John repeated. "Before this thing came out I refused
twenty-five thousand for the place, because I knew I could get
twenty-eight thousand. Now I couldn't get twenty-eight hundred. Couldn't
you understand that the reputation of being haunted simply plays the
devil with a piece of property?" "Yes; yes, I did understand that, and
for that very reason I was always careful--"

"Careful! To tell people that you had seen a ghost in my house?"

"No! _Not_ to tell them where I had seen a ghost. I never--"

"How did it get out then?"

"I," Hewson began, and then he stood with his mouth open, unable to close
it for the articulation of the next word, which he at last huskily
whispered forth, "can't tell you."

"Can't tell me?" wailed St. John. "Well, I call that pretty rough!"

"It is rough," Hewson admitted; "and Heaven knows that I would make it
smooth if I could. I never once--except once only--mentioned your place
in connection with the matter. I was scrupulously careful not to do so,
for I did imagine something like what has happened. I would do
anything--anything--in reparation. But I can't even tell you how the name
of your place got out in the connection, though certainly you have a
right to ask and to know. The circumstances were--peculiar. The person--
was one that I wouldn't have dreamt was capable of repeating it. It was
as if I had said the words over to myself."