"A roof of any sort will be a luxury," she assured him. "I only hope that we shall not be a trouble to you in any way."
"And your name, please?" he asked.
She was a little amazed at his directness, but she answered him without hesitation.
"My name," she told him, "is Louise."
He leaned down toward her, a little puzzled.
"Louise? But your surname?"
She laughed softly. It occurred to him that nothing like her laugh had ever been heard on that gray-walled stretch of mountain road.
"Never mind! I am traveling incognito. Who I am, or where I am going—well, what does that matter to anybody? Perhaps I do not know myself. You can imagine, if you like, that we came from the heart of your hills, and that to-morrow they will open again and welcome us back."
"I don't think there are any motor-cars in fairyland," he objected.
"We represent a new edition of fairy lore," she told him. "Modern romance, you know, includes motor-cars and even French maids."