"I feel, wrong as it may seem," the priest had once confided to Law, "like making the sign of the cross whenever I come in the presence of Mam'selle Morey."
"Well, crosses have apparently been quite in her line," Law laughed back, "she'd naturally take it as a countersign."
Law had a habit that reminded Jo of Langley, of Donelle and, indeed now that she reflected, of others besides, who knew her more or less intimately. He would sit and watch her while she worked and then, without rhyme or reason, smile. Often, indeed, he laughed.
"Am I so amusing?" she asked Law once.
"Not so amusing, Mam'selle, as consumedly comical."
"Comical, Mr. Law?" Jo frowned.
"No good in scowling, Mam'selle. I mean no reflection. The fact is, you've taken us all into camp, we might as well laugh."
"Camp, Mr. Law?" The brows lifted.
"Yes, you made us look like small beer and then you forgive us, and label us champagne!"
"Mr. Law, you talk!" Jo sniffed.