'The right sort of mischief is fun,—and the right sort of fun is -not- mischief,' she said impatiently. 'And what people find in the wrong sorts, I don't know!'
'By the way,' said the countryman, 'how come you to be here? How did you escape, when Saul killed all the rest of the witches?'
'It is queer, isn't it?' she said. 'Wouldn't you have supposed
I should be the first one to fall?'
'And in this country, are you using your experience to make or to mend mischief?'
'Make all I can! Are there any Sauls on hand, do you think?'
'Pray, what sort of man would you characterize by that name?'
'Well,' said she of Endor with again the hidden laugh in her voice, 'some men have a hidden weakness for witches which conflicts with their duty,—and some men don't!'
'I hope I am not a Saul, then,' said the countryman laughing, though softly; 'but in any case you are safe to take my arm for a walk round the rooms. I should like to see all that is to be seen; and perhaps you could help me to understand.'
It was not a more incongruous pair than were to be seen in many parts of the assembly. The beauty of Charles the Second's court was flirting with Rob Roy; a lady in the wonderful ruff of Elizabeth's time talked with a Roman toga; a Franciscan monk with bare feet gesticulated in front of a Swiss maiden; as the Witch of Endor sauntered through the rooms on the arm of nobody knew exactly what countryman.
'Your prejudices must be very often shocked here,' said the countryman with a smothered tone of laughter again. 'Or, I beg pardon!—has a witch any prejudices, seeing she can have no gravity?'