"—And you witches," remarked Kilgour, who was close behind, "haven't a sense of humour."
The sorceress pursed her lips.
"Was there anything—bad?" asked Susan.
She was ashamed of the foolish impulse that made her ask. Mélisande looked at her indulgently. But her disclaimer was too hasty to be convincing. In a way, it was more disquieting than if she had overwhelmed the sinner's wife with evil prognostications.
"There was nothing in it. Nothing!" she said, but her voice lacked conviction.
"That's right. Don't frighten us," said Kilgour.
Susan was not frightened. But she could not shake off an unaccountable nervousness;—could not forget Mélisande's wild sayings.... Why was she afraid of Rackham?
It was odd that as soon as they came into the ballroom her eyes should light on him. Everybody was arriving at once, jammed in under the gallery;—and Rackham was pushing through the crowd to her side, and she could not fly.
"What is the matter?" said Barnaby. "Why, you're trembling?"
The truth came out before she could stop herself, though she could not explain it.