"I did get it from a damsel, and that is why I called it a
dulcimer, but she didn't sing of Mount Abora. I wish I could
remember the year."
"I think it was in 1894," said Judith quietly.
Pasquale, who had been completely unaware of Judith's existence
until half an hour before, could not repress a stare of polite
surprise.
"I believe you are right. In fact, you are. But how can you
tell?"
"Through the kindness of Sir Marcus," replied Judith graciously,
"you are a very old acquaintance. I could write you off-hand a
nice little obituary notice with all the adventures--well, I will
not say complete--but with all the dates accurate, I assure you.
I have a head for that sort of thing."
"Yes," I cried, desiring to turn the conversation. "Don't tell
Mrs. Mainwaring anything you wish forgotten. Facts are her
passion. She writes wonderful articles full of figures that make
your head spin, and publishes them in the popular magazines over
the signature of Willoughby the statistician. Allow me to
present to you a statistical ghost.
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