Vaga was now flung back, as a sailor would say, on her “beam ends.” For, in truth, she had made herself amenable to the charge.
“Oh! you innocent!” cried Sabrina, pressing her triumph. “Though you are three years younger than I, you’re quite as old about some things, and this is one of them.”
“This what?”
“This that; the thing, or man, if he may be so called, we see riding down yonder road.”
“You wrong me, sister; I’ve no secret concerning him. I never cared for Rej Trevor in the way you appear to be hinting at—not three straws.”
“Are you serious in what you say, Vag? Tell me the truth!”
There was an earnestness in the way the question was put—tone, air, everything—that bespoke more than a common interest about the answer.
It came, causing disappointment, with some slight vexation. For Vaga, thinking she had been badgered long enough, and, remembering, moreover, how very reticent the other had just shown herself, determined on having a revanche. It was altogether in consonance with her nature; though she had no idea of advantage beyond that of mere fun.
“Curiosity on the rack!” she triumphantly retorted. “What you’ve just been dooming me to! How does it feel, sister Sab!”
“Sister Sab” made no response; in turn being fairly conquered and cornered. But her silence and submissive look were more eloquent than any appeal she could have made. And, responding to them, her conqueror relentingly asked: