“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.
“Yes,” she said, after a pause. “I do believe that I heard the story of the Banshee—a princess, was she not—a sort of princess—an Irish princess?”
“Strictly Irish. It is said that the cry of the White Lady is sometimes heard even on these nights among the cliffs down which the Princess flung herself.”
“Really?” said she, turning her eyes to the sea. “How strange!”
“Strange? well—perhaps. But Brian declares that he has heard the cry with his own ears. I have a friend who says, very coarsely, that if lies were landed property Brian would be the largest holder of real estate in the world.”
“Your friend does not understand Brian.” There was more than a trace of indignation in her voice. “Brian has imagination—so have all the people about here. I must get home as soon as possible. I thank you very much for your trouble. Goodnight.”
“I have had no trouble. Good-night.”