“Miss Tibby, were you never serious in your life,� he asked, bending toward her.
The girl slackened her horse’s pace and looked over and past him reflectively.
“Yes, once,� she said at last, as if she had taken time to review her life from the beginning.
“I should like to know when it was.�
“Well, I will tell you, though it is a very impertinent question for you to ask, and I feel under no obligation to answer it. It was when I lived in the country and had an attack of quinsy. I couldn’t speak for three whole days, and the village doctor diagnosed my case as diphtheria. I expected to die, of course, and I really felt quite serious and anxious, I must confess.�
“You had reason to, if you could not talk,� Donald replied in a dry tone.
“So I thought. When one can neither talk nor breathe, one has time for serious reflection. Now, please, Mr. Bartram, don’t say anything about the delight of my friends under the circumstances, for I think I have heard something of the kind before. I wrote notes to them.�
“That must have been delightful.�
“For them or me?�
“Both. Miss Waring, why are you so unlike other girls?�