"Perfectly. But I should like very much to tell you, Mr. Brooke, how grateful I feel for all this trouble and—"
"Ah, now, Miss Talbot!" cried Brooke, averting his face, and holding up both hands, "don't—don't! Let's drop all that sort of thing. It's part of the mockery of civilization. Words generally count for nothing. Acts are all in all. What I ask of you is for you to gather up your strength so as to be able to foot it with me and not break down. But first of all, I must say I very much wish you had some costume a little less marked than that of an English lady. Now, if you could pass as a peasant-girl, or an old woman, or a goatherd's wife, or a vender of quack medicines, or anything humble and yet national, why—"
Miss Talbot shook her head with a mournful smile, and looked troubled.
"I've had an idea all day," said Brooke, "which I suppose there's no great harm in mentioning."
"What?"
"What do you say to disguising yourself as a priest?"
"A priest? How can I?"
"Well, with a dress like this of mine. It's very convenient—long, ample, hides everything—just the thing, in fact. You can slip it on over your present dress, and—there you are, transformed into a priest. I hope you're not proud."
"I'm sure I should be only too glad to disguise myself, but where can I get the dress?"
"Take this one."