In the end, she dancing and I lumbering along, we came on a cheerful
group collected in the corridor below. There was the Prince, the Duke of
Perth, the Lord Ogilvie, the two Irishmen, Mr. Secretary, the Colonel, a
strange lady or two, and Margaret.
"I thought your ladyship was lost," said Charles, smiling.
"On the contrary, sir," she retorted, "I was found."
"The usual explanation," he commented lightly.
"A most unusual explanation, sir," she countered deftly, "for Mr.
Wheatman has been explaining how it came to pass that he kissed a ghost."
"I never said any such thing," cried I, vexed to the bone.
"It wasna necessary," she said airily.
"Was it the ghost of a lady?" asked the Duke, who had been greatly amused
by the dialogue.
"The question could only be asked," said Charles, "by one who has not the
advantage of knowing Master Wheatman."
He laid a hand on my arm and drew me nearer. "My lord Duke," he went on,
"I present to you the latest addition to my army, Mr. Oliver Wheatman of
the Hanyards, the first-fruit, I am convinced, of a rich harvest from the
gentry of his shire.
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