"No comments!" exclaimed Lamont, harshly, as he lifted his unconscious burden out of the buggy.
"And why not, pray?" demanded the woman, impudently. "Why should I not make comments when my husband is your pal in all your schemes; that is, he does the work while you play the fine gentleman, and he doesn't get half of the money by a long shot?"
"But I insist upon knowing now," declared the woman. "Who is the girl you are carrying in your arms, and why have you brought her here—of all places in the world?"
By this time they had reached the house, and Lamont strode in and laid his unconscious burden upon a wooden settee, which was the only article of furniture the apartment possessed.
"Why don't you answer, Victor Lamont?" cried the woman, shrilly. "Ten to one it's some girl whose puny, pretty face has fascinated you, and you're in love with her."
"Well, supposing that is the case," he replied, coolly; "what then?"
"I would say your fool-hardiness had got the better of your reason," she replied.
"That is the case with most men who do so foolish a thing as to fall in love," he answered, carelessly.
"Keep an eye on the girl, and do not let her leave this farm-house until after our work around here is done."
"I will promise under one condition," replied his companion; "and that is that you will not attempt to see the girl, or speak to her."