"Has Sir Christopher Neville left us also?" asked Mary Brent, as Father White came down from Cecil's room and joined her and Elinor at the fire.
"He has."
"A strange man!" said Father White.
Elinor colored.
"Ay," answered Mary Brent; "I cannot make out why Giles hath taken such a liking to him. To me he seems proud and reserved, with something in his tone that suggests that he is turning the company into a jest. For myself I did not see anything droll in his story of the fried whetstone."
Elinor shrugged her shoulders.
"If every man were condemned that told a tale in which others could see nothing droll, we should need a Tyburn Hill here in Maryland."
"Ay, but what's the use of telling a droll story if it be not droll? I do not understand Sir Christopher."
"I don't think you do."
"I think I do."