"Oh! I think we may take that for granted."
"You really don't get a grain of good from your Brassfield experience," said she, "or you'd know better." Here ensued a long silence, during which Amidon appeared to be pondering on her extraordinary remark.
"But, as to the fact," urged he at last, "how can you guess out any such state of things as you describe?"
"Can't you guess a little bit more once in a while? I know about it, from Mr. Brassfield's treatment—of—of me—when I made him think—that I—was Elizabeth! Oh, don't you see that I had to do it, so as to know, and tell you? Oh, I wish I had never, never begun this! I do, I do!"
A parlor-car has no conveniences whatever for heroics, hysterics or weeping, so miserably are our American railways managed; and Clara winked back into her eyes the tears which filled them, and Amidon looked at her tenderly.
"Did I, really," said he confusedly—"to you?"
"M'h'm," said Madame le Claire, nodding affirmatively; "I couldn't stop you!"
"It must have been dreadful—for you," said Amidon.
"Awful," said she; "but the work had to be done, you know."
"Oh, if it were you, now," said he, laying his hand on hers, "I could do it, if you didn't mind. I—I should like to, you know."