“What kind of desperado organization is this?” he exclaimed, laughing in spite of himself at the ludicrous appearance this feminine vigilant committee made.
“It’s war to the knife,” cried Ruth.
“And the fork, too, I should say,” laughed her father, “also the teapot, and—what on earth are you cherishing so fondly, Sallie?”
“Cayenne pepper,” responded Miss Sallie, “and I consider myself well armed, at that.”
“I should rather think so,” agreed her brother. “However you are all safe in laying down your arms, for we have searched diligently, and can find no trace of the intruder. He evidently heard the countess and made a quick get away. You must pardon us, Madam, for stirring up your quiet home in this manner,” he said, bowing to Miss Thorne. “I trust we shall meet with no further disagreeable adventures.”
“You have not disturbed either Lucy or me in the least,” declared the demented old woman graciously. “As for Papa and Mama they dearly love to have visitors.” She smiled sweetly and at once began a one-sided conversation with her departed parents.
“Do take us away from her,” whispered Ruth to her father. “She has been addressing the shades of her family ever since you left us, and it’s getting on our nerves.”
“With your kind permission, Miss Thorne, we shall retire,” said Mr. Stuart, and the seven tired women gladly followed him through the shadowy hall and up the wide stairs, to their respective sleeping rooms.
CHAPTER XVII