“Nicky, I am in no humor for this nonsense, and so I warn you!” said Elinor. “If Lord Carlyon is away from home, I insist on your securing that door!”
“Oh, no, I have a much better notion than that!” Nicky said blithely. “If you should not dislike it, I mean to spend the night in that room abovestairs, and then if anyone comes up the secret stair, I shall catch him.”
The outraged widow gave him to understand in the plainest terms that nothing could exceed her dislike of this project. He remained entirely unconvinced, merely setting himself to coax and cajole her into relenting. After twenty minutes of his persuasive eloquence she began to weaken, partly because she was a kindhearted woman and perceived that a refusal to let him amuse himself in this way would bitterly disappoint him, and partly because from having had a good deal to do with young gentlemen of tender years she was well aware that however weary of the argument she might be, he would be ready to continue it with unabated vigor until a late hour of the night. She gave way at last, and with an acid reference to the well-known effect of the dropping of water upon stones, said that he might do as he pleased.
Passing over this rider with all the air of one too well accustomed to listen to such odious comparisons to pay any heed to them, Nicky favored her with one of his blinding smiles and said that he had known all along that she was pluck to the backbone. She thanked him for this tribute and inquired how he meant to account for his presence in the house to the Barrows.
“Oh, there can be no difficulty!” he answered. “I shall say you are in the fidgets because of what happened last night, and I am come so that you may be comfortable.”
“Well, if you are set on keeping watch over that stair, I think you should tell Barrow the whole, and let him bear you company,” she said.
This, however, he would by no means agree to, indignantly demanding whether she thought him to be incapable of dealing unassisted with any midnight marauder. She mendaciously assured him that she had every confidence in his ability to capture, single-handed, any number of desperate persons, and he relented enough to show her a serviceable pistol which he had had the forethought to bring with him.
She eyed this weapon with misgiving. “Is it loaded?” she asked.
“Loaded! Ay, of course it is loaded!” he said impatiently. “What would be the use of it if it were not, pray? It is not cocked, however, so if you are thinking that it may go off you may be quite easy on that score.”
“Oh!” she said. “Is it your own pistol?”