"No other tradition of this place," I assured her.
"I am glad she was so considerate. But why—if you will pardon me—did she happen to light upon that story? We have not heard those incidents spoken of for years."
"Not since the phantom coach flew through this road the last time," I ventured, with a smile that should have disarmed her from suspecting any ulterior motive on my part in thus introducing a subject which could not be altogether pleasing to her.
"The phantom coach! Have you heard of that?"
I wish it had been Lucetta who had said this and to whom my reply was due. The opportunities would have been much greater for an injudicious display of feeling on her part and for a suitable conclusion on mine.
But it was Loreen, and she never forgot herself. So I had to content myself with the persuasion that her voice was just a whit less clear than usual and her serenity enough impaired for her to look out of my one high and dismal window instead of into my face.
"My dear,"—I had not called her this before, though the term had frequently risen to my lips in answer to Lucetta—"you should have gone with me into the village to-day. Then you would not need to ask if I had heard of the phantom coach."
The probe had reached the quick at last. She looked quite startled.
"You amaze me," she said. "What do you mean, Miss Butterworth? Why should I not have needed to ask?"
"Because you would have heard it whispered about in every lane and corner. It is common talk in town to-day. You must know why, Miss Knollys."