Louis adopted an indifferent tone—
"Strange that the old lady should be so nervous just to-night—isn't it?—seeing these burglars have been knocking about for over a fortnight. Is this the first time she's got excited about it?"
"Yes, I think it is," said Rachel faintly, as it were submissively, with no sign of irritation against him.
With their air of worldliness and mature wisdom they twittered on like a couple of sparrows—inconsequently, capriciously; and nothing that they said had the slightest originality, weight, or importance. But they both thought that their conversation was full of significance; which it was, though they could not explain it to themselves. What they happened to say did not matter in the least. If they had recited the Koran to each other the inexplicable significance of their words would have been the same.
Rachel faced him again, leaning her hands behind her on the table, and said with the most enchanting, persuasive friendliness—
"I wasn't frightened—truly! I don't know why I looked as though I was."
"You mean about the revolver—in the sitting-room?" He jumped nimbly back after her to the revolver question.
"Yes. Because I'm quite used to revolvers, you know. My brother had one. Only his was a Colt—one of those long things."
"Your brother, eh?"
"Yes. Did you know him?"