"Yes, I have married him; and, Mr. Drummond, don't you dare to speak of him in that tone again. I will not endure it. No, not if you had saved my life a dozen times."
The angry blood flushed to her pale cheek, and she jerked her hand angrily away from his grasp.
Willard bit his lip till it bled, to keep down his rising anger; while Christie and Mrs. Tom still sat staring in increasing amazement.
There was a long, disagreeable pause, broken at last by Mrs. Courtney saying, in her usual quick, abrupt way:
"There! you need not get mad, now, Willard; have you forgotten that no one used ever to get angry at anything said by 'Madcap Laura?' Come, don't speak so of Mr. Courtney again, and I'll forgive you; there's my hand on it. I cannot forget that we are old friends."
A shadow crossed Willard's face, as he bent over the little hand she extended.
"Has your—has Mr. Courtney been saved?" he asked, in a subdued tone.
"Yes, the waves washed us ashore together, but something struck him on the head, and he is unable to rise. I suppose you are puzzling your brains now to know what brought us to this quarter of the globe?"
"I confess I have some curiosity on that point."
"Well, you see," said little Mrs. Courtney, adjusting herself more comfortably in her chair, "we went on a bridal-tour to New York, and on our way home Edgar thought he would call at Westport, where he had business of some kind. All the way we had fine weather until the journey was at its end, and then the storm arose in which we nearly perished. But, Willard, what under the sun can have driven you here?"