Elsley made no answer, but sprang down through the thickets, calling loudly to Claude Mellot.
It was very naughty of Lucia, no doubt: but even a worm will turn; and there are times when people who have not courage to hold their peace must say something or other; and do not always, in the hurry, get out what they ought, but only what they have time to think of. And she forgot what she had said the next minute, in Major Campbell's question—
"Am I, then, so old a friend, Mrs. Vavasour?"
"Of course; who older?"
Campbell was silent a moment. If he was inclined to choke, at least
Lucia did not see it.
"I trust I have not offended your—Mr. Vavasour?"
"Oh!" she said, with a forced gaiety, "only one of his poetic fancies. He wanted so much to see Mr. Mellot photograph the waterfall. I hope he will be in time to find him."
"I am a plain soldier, Mrs. Vavasour, and I only ask because I do not understand. What are poetic fancies?"
Lucia looked up in his face puzzled, and saw there an expression so grave, pitying, tender, that her heart leaped up toward him, and then sank back again.
"Why do you ask? Why need you know? You are no poet."