“Oh, don’t you remember, he said that Col. Anglesea had gone?” inquired Elva.
“Gone!” echoed Le and Mrs. Force, in one voice.
“Oh, yes!” replied Wynnette. “The horrid beat has made tracks—vamoosed the ranche—absquatulated—that is to say, Col Anglesea, H.E.I.C.S., and all the rest of it, has taken his final departure.”
“Thank Heaven!” earnestly breathed Mrs. Force. “But is it certain, Wynnette?” she almost immediately inquired.
“I think so. Dr. Ingle met him, in traveling dress, at the railway station, when he took a through ticket to Washington, and said that he was en route for New York, and meant to sail on the Scotia for Liverpool next Saturday. His trumpery was to be sent after him by to-night’s express.”
“Thank Heaven!” again fervently breathed Elfrida Force.
“What’s all that you’re talking about over there?” inquired the lady from the mines, rising from her seat on the sofa and unceremoniously joining the group around her hostess. “What’s up now? I heard the name of my fine scamp mentioned just now! Has anything happened to him? Has he broken his neck, eh?”
“Oh, no!” sighed Wynnette, in a tone of regret; “he has not broken his neck. Fate reserves that for the hangman to do! He has only left the neighborhood to return to England. But let us hope that the ship may be lost! I’m sure his presence on board will be enough to raise the demon and sink the ship!”
“Oh, Wynnette! Don’t say such dreadfully wicked things! You don’t mean them at all, you know you don’t! Consider how many good people would be drowned if the ship should sink! And how many people would grieve all their lives after them!” said little Elva.
“Well, I’ll take that back again! I know I do talk too much with my mouth—I mean speak without mature consideration,” said Wynnette.