"Now," I demanded, "tell me what you are doing here."
"You have your privilege at guessing," he sneered, in his easy, mocking way. "Have you never taken a little adventure of this sort yourself?"
"Ah, some servant girl—at your host's house. Excellent adventure. But this is your last one," I said to him.
"Is it so," he sneered. "Then let me make my prayers!" He mocked at me, and had no fear of me whatever.
"In Virginia we keep the shotgun for men who prowl around houses at night. What are you doing here?"
"You have no right to ask. It is not your house."
"There was a light," said I. "For that reason I have a right to ask. I am a guest, and a guest has duties as well as a host."
A certain change in mood seized him. "If I give you parole," he asked, "will you believe me, and let us talk freely?"
"Yes," said I at length, slowly. "You are a liar; but I do not think you will break parole."
"You gauge me with perfect accuracy," he answered. "That is why I wish to talk."