“No,” answered Zerlina and paused again.
“Perhaps you had some special reason for coming, Zerlina,” hinted Bab. “Was it to ask us a question?”
The girl’s face took on the same stubborn expression it had worn when Bab had asked her to show the knife used in the dance.
“I came because you asked me,” she repeated, in the same sing-song tone.
Again there was a tap at the door and Bridget appeared, bringing a note for Bab.
“Another note from Stephen,” observed Bab, reading it carefully and handing it to Ruth. The note said:
“If you and Ruth don’t mind, kindly keep the fight, if possible, a secret from everybody for a day or two. It would be necessary to explain about the pistols, and if José is the man who owns them, telling would give everything away. I shall tell uncle, of course. People will think that Jimmie fell out of a tree or down into a hollow. Keep as quiet as possible about the particulars of our adventure. S.”
“I’m sorry,” exclaimed Ruth; “it would have been such fun to tell it all.”
“The telling is only a pleasure deferred for a while,” said her friend.
In the meantime, the Gypsy girl had lost nothing of the conversation except the contents of the note, which Bab had rolled into a little ball and thrown into a waste paper basket.