"He's very foxy," commented Ajax, "but he means business. It really bothers me that they won't confide in us."
The November rains were unusually heavy that year, and confined us to the house. Gloriana had borrowed a sewing-machine from a neighbour, and worked harder than ever, inflaming her eyes and our curiosity. We speculated daily upon her past, present and future, having little else to distract us in a life that was duller than a Chinese comedy. We waxed fat in idleness, but the cook grew lean.
"You're are losing flesh, Gloriana," said I, noting her sunken cheeks and glittering eyes.
"In a good cause," she replied fervently. "Anyways, ther ain't a happier woman than me in the state of Californy! Well, I'm most thro' with my sewing, an' I'd like ter show ye both what I've done, but----"
"We've have been waiting for this, Gloriana," said Ajax, tartly. "As a member of the family you have not treated my brother and myself fairly. This mysterious work of yours is not only wearing you to skin and bone, it is consuming us with curiosity."
"Ye're jokin', Mr. Ajax."
"This is no joking matter, Gloriana."
She blushed, and glanced indecisively at two solemn faces.
"Ye've bin more 'n good ter me," she said slowly, "but a secret is a secret till it's told. I hate ter tell my secret, an'--an' yer both young unmarried men. It's really embarrassin'."
"Your secret is no secret," said my brutal brother. "Somebody, Gloriana, is about to get married--eh?"