“You promise, mind you—if I remove this gag from your mouth that you won’t offer to cry out, nor make any disturbance of any kind?” She silently promised; and Mary did the same.
“Well, my lady,” after looking her straight in the eye for full ten seconds—a look which she returned without flinching—“Who do you think I am?”
“I know who you are, sir,” she replied promptly. He started; but quickly recovered himself.
“Well, who am I?”
“You are Captain Tryon of the brig Staghound.”
“Upon my word! Your gallant knight must have given you a pretty sharp description of me.”
Cordelia’s first impulse was one of anger at this slur; but she thought how foolish it would be, and straightway resolved that nothing his tongue could frame should cause her to betray or forget herself.
She looked at him steadily for a moment, and then, with a tinge in her tone which paid him back in full, she said:
“Captain Tryon, if you will look into a mirror when you next see one I think you will discover a face not likely to be forgotten when once seen, and not at all difficult to describe.”
“Will you tell me how you would describe it?”