"There is nothing so catching as superstition," she said, "and all the evening, since you told Evie and me about it, I have been wondering— Oh, it must be all nonsense!" she cried.
"You mean the Luck?" asked Harry. "Is Saul also among the prophets?"
"Yes, I mean the Luck. How does the nursery rhyme go? Fire and frost and rain, isn't it? Well, there they all were, and it is no use denying it."
"Not the slightest," said Harry.
"Certainly it is very strange. Harry, I don't like the Luck at all. It's uncanny. I wish you would smash it, or throw it into the sea. Yet, somehow, I feel as if you were safe as long as you are here, away from it. I wish you would stop here till your marriage. Then you go away, you see, for six weeks, and in the meantime some burglar might be kind enough to steal it."
Harry shook his head.
"No, I put the good things it has brought me much higher than the evil," he said. "And it is going to bring me another very good thing—the best. After that, if you like, I will smash it."
"Well, stay here till your marriage, anyhow."
"I must go down to Vail once, to see that they have finished up. The house was upside down when I was there. But, barring a couple of days then, there is nothing I should like better. You will have nearly a month of me, though. Consider well."
"Then stop till I tell you I can not bear you any longer. I am a candid woman, and fond of giving pain, and I promise to speak out. Dear me, it is nearly one! I must go to bed, and if I dream of the Luck it will be your fault."