“Thank you,” said she, with profound coldness, when the boat was alongside.
“Your case was not so desperate, after all,” he remarked, with just a trifle less frigidity in his tone, though he now knew that she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He had talked of the glamour of moonlight. How could he have been so ridiculous?
“No, my case was not so very desperate,” she said. “Thank you so much.”
Did she mean to suggest that he should now walk away?
“I can’t go, you know, until I am satisfied that your contretemps is at an end,” said he. “My name is Wynne—Harold Wynne. I am a guest of Lord Innisfail’s. I dare say you know him.”
“No,” she replied. “I know nobody.”
“Nobody?”
“Nobody here. Of course I daily hear something about Lord Innisfail and his guests.”
“You know Brian—he is somebody—the historian of the region. Did you ever hear the story of the Banshee?”
She looked at him, but he flattered himself that his face told her nothing of what she seemed anxious to know.