"We may call it that, anyway," was the young woman's reply. "The thirty-first of July will probably be nothing more than a memory by the time we find our way back to the world."
A busy silence followed the dismissal of the subject, and then Lucetta began to tell about the various alarms she had had during the previous night. "All of which goes to prove that I am still the normal woman," she concluded.
"You are a heroine, and one of these days I mean to put you in a book," Prime threatened. "You saved my life yesterday and my self-respect to-day; and that is more than a man ought to expect from the most normal woman in the world."
"Your self-respect?"
"Yes; you heard me babbling all night, and you have been good-hearted enough not to report anything that a man need be ashamed of."
"You didn't say anything to be ashamed of," she returned quickly. "Most of the talk was about the old farm near Batavia; that and your grandfather."
"Grandfather Bankhead," he mused; "they don't make any finer characters nowadays than he was—or as fine."
"Bankhead?" she asked suddenly; "was that your grandfather's name?"
"It was: Abner Greenlow Bankhead. It is not such a very usual name. Have you ever heard it before?"
"Heard it? Why—why, it was my mother's mother's maiden name! She was a Bankhead, and she married Josiah Greenlow Bradford!"