At the same time both speakers knew that what they had seen in Sylvia's face and heard in her voice exceeded pleasantry.
An idea overwhelmed Edna. An idea which so fitted into the circumstances that betwixt its appeal and the incredibility of Sylvia's words being serious, she felt like flying from John and being alone to think over the recent scene. If only Dunham were not penetrated by the same thought that had come to her! For another minute neither spoke, and then it was John who again broke the silence.
"Say, Edna," he suddenly ejaculated, "what's the use? That girl was in earnest."
"Nonsense. She isn't a pagan," flashed the other.
"Well, I don't know. She had a father who was one. According to Judge Trent he was all for that sort of thing, and pinned his faith to everything supernatural, from a rabbit's foot to a clairvoyant."
Edna's face clouded with fastidious distaste even while she breathed a shade more freely. Evidently from John's tone her own diagnosis had not occurred to the hero of it. "She had a matrimonial scheme on foot when I first met her," he went on. "She was considering some actor because she wished to go on the stage."
"Rather strange that such a fact should have transpired in a first interview," remarked Edna dryly.
"No, because that was a session devoted merely to ways and means. But she's not saying hocus-pocus and stirring caldrons on his account, you may be certain. She admitted that he was an old image."
"It's too absurd for us to discuss it," returned the girl impatiently. "Fancy a ward of Thinkright's, under his influence for weeks, having any superstition; to say nothing of the crudest and silliest one of them all."
"And who could she have up her sleeve, anyway?" asked Dunham meditatively. "Is there some swain over at the Mill Farm?"