"That was me. I was imitating your voice, Nannie. You see I thought it might frighten him more than mine--and it did."
"My voice! Do you mean to tell me that that rasping, creaking screech was meant to be an imitation of my voice? I'd like to know whoever heard me talk in that way."
"Why, Nannie, I'm hearing you talk that way now. Don't you know your own musical accents when you hear them?--and me giving you a taste of them to your face!"
Laughingly, Isabel treated Nannie to another imitation of her curious nasal utterance then and there, and was out of the room before the old lady had recovered sufficiently from her astonishment to pronounce a candid criticism of the impertinent performance.
From Nannie Isabel descended to the master of the house, to be greeted by some very similar inquiries.
"What's been the meaning of all this uproar?" Isabel repeated the lie she had told Nannie. "That was no man's voice I heard. It was a woman's, and I could have sworn one I knew."
"I expect the voice you thought you knew was Nannie. I was favouring the ruffian with as close an imitation of her genial tongue as I could manage."
"That's not what I mean. I heard you imitating Nannie. Will you swear it was a man at the door?"
"Of course I'll swear it. Whatever do you mean?"
"What was he like?"