“Yes,” said he, “but we return to-morrow morning.”
“Are you going to battle?” asked Imogene, quickly, perceiving this look. “Is there any thing serious about to happen?”
“No; why do you ask?”
“Because you seem troubled about something.”
“I am a little—shall I tell you why?”
“Certainly, dear Edgar, are we to have any secrets between us?”
“But you will laugh at me if I tell you?”
“Try me.”
“Are you superstitious, Imogene?”
“No, not very.”