The lights were all out in the Archibalds’ cabin, and still Miss Raybold and the bishop walked up and down the open space at the farther end of the camp.
“Corona!” exclaimed her brother, suddenly appearing before them, “I have told you over and over again that I wish to speak to you. Are you never going to stop that everlasting preaching and give me a chance to talk to you?”
“Arthur!” she exclaimed, sharply, “I wish you would not interrupt me in this way. I had just begun to say—”
“Oh, my dear Miss Raybold,” cried the bishop, “do not let me prevent you from speaking to your brother. Indeed, it is growing late, and I will not trespass longer on your time. Good-night,” and with a bow he was gone.
“Now just see what you have done!” said Corona, her eye-glasses brighter than the moon.
“Well, it is time he was going,” said her brother. “I have something very important to say to you. I want your good offices in an affair more worthy of your thoughts than anything else at this moment.”
“Whatever it is,” she said, turning away from him, “I do not want to hear it now—not a word of it. You have displeased me, Arthur, and I am going to my tent.”