"Maybe so, but people don't feed on voices--not in Iceland, anyway--here's your over-skirt."
"For goodness sake, Aunt Margret!"
"The thirst that from the soul doth come
Doth ask a draught divine."
"Now for my hat! If I have to wear this old black riding habit I must have something sweet on my head, at all events. That one with the feather--no, this one and a veil. There! Do I look nice?"
"Shockingly nice, if you ask me."
The girl laughed gaily, and said in a louder voice, "Then let us go downstairs--the poor boy must be tired of waiting, and anxious to be off."
"Not half so anxious as the poor girl, I'm thinking."
Then the smiling face became serious again, and Thora said, "Don't say those dreadful things any more, there's a dear soul!"
"Then don't forget my warning, and watch over your feelings, my precious."
The door to the street was being opened by this time, and a rich barytone voice, mingled with the soft murmur of the sea, came floating into the hall--