"You were always a fool about girls, Bill," she continued. "Any girl could twist you round her finger. Do you remember Mary Greenway?"
Now the recollection of that young lady was peculiarly galling to me at the moment. After expressing deep love for me—I was eighteen—for nearly six months, she eloped with one of her father's grooms!
"Please don't mention that young lady," I implored; "it makes me feel ill. I believe at the present moment she teaches young ladies in her husband's riding-school."
Ethel laughed heartily.
"She might do worse," she replied. "I think she is rather a plucky girl."
"What, to run away with a groom?" I suggested.
"No," she snapped; "to work for her living."
We came to our port of debarkation, Monte Video, at last. It seemed like the end of a holiday to go ashore, and take to the dusty train, luxurious though it was, but now I had the precious casket in my care, and the anxiety was almost too much for me.
"Look here," said St. Nivel, when we had been in the train about an hour, "you are looking pretty sick over that precious packet, why don't you let me take care of it for you?"
I tapped nervously at the trousers pocket in which I was carrying it.