“I did not sail for New York, at all,” he said, with an assumption of ease he did not feel. “Dickey and I accepted Lord Saxondale's pressing invitation to stop off with them for awhile. I don't wonder that you are surprised to find us here.”
“I am not surprised at anything now,” she said in perplexed tones. “But we are not in England; we were not on the water. And all those trees and hills and rocks I saw from the window—where are we?”
“In the grimmest, feudliest, ghastliest old place between Brussels and Anthony Hope's domain. This is Castle Craneycrow; a real, live castle with parapets, bastions, traditions and, I insist—though they won't believe me—snakes and mice and winged things that screech and yowl.” So spoke Lady Jane, eagerly. Miss Garrison was forgetting to eat in her wonder, and Mr. Savage was obliged to remind her that “things get cold mighty quick in these baronial ice-houses.”
“I know it's a castle, but where is it located? And how came you here?”
“That's it,” quoth Mr. Savage, serenely. “How came we here? I repeat the question and supply the answer. We came by the grace of God and more or less luck.”
“O, I'll never understand it at all,” complained Dorothy, in despair. “Now, you must answer my questions, one by one, Lord Saxondale. To whom does the castle belong?”
“To the Earl of Saxondale, ma'am.”
“Then, I know where it is. This is the old place in Luxemburg you were telling me about.”
“That isn't a question, but you are right.”
“But how is it that I am here?”