“Last night!” Silva repeated in a bland tone of mere curiousness. “What do you mean by last night?”
“You know very well what I mean,” Arthur persisted. “Last night in the Moraine—in the woods.”
“In the Moraine—in the woods,” Silva repeated. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t sleep in the woods last night. I slept in my tent as usual.”
Arthur looked at her hard. “Well,” he said after a moment, “either you’re telling the biggest whopper I ever listened to or you were walking in your sleep.”
“Walking in my sleep,” Silva said scornfully, “you’re crazy.” And she passed on.
CHAPTER XVII CRESCENT MOON BEACH
It was drawing near the middle of August. And now with each sunrise, the fun at the Little House seemed to double itself.
“I never saw such a place as this,” Rosie wailed once. “There aren’t hours enough to do all the things you want to do every day; and not days enough to do all you want to do every week.”