“It was the same in Rome,” the lady continued, unheeding, “when we met the Izards, and at Venice that nasty Colonel Tarleton saw us at the opera. In London we must needs run into the Manners from Maryland. In Paris—”
“In Paris we were safe enough,” Mr. Riddle threw in hastily.
“And why?” she flashed back at him.
He did not answer that.
“A truce with your fancies, madam,” said he. “Behold a soul of good nature! I have followed you through half the civilized countries of the globe—none of them are good enough. You must needs cross the ocean again, and come to the wilds. We nearly die on the trail, are picked up by a Samaritan in buckskin and taken into the bosom of his worthy family. And forsooth, you look at a backwoods urchin, and are nigh to swooning.”
“Hush, Harry,” she cried, starting forward and peering into my face; “he will hear you.”
“Tut!” said Harry, “what if he does? London and Paris are words to him. We might as well be speaking French. And I'll take my oath he's sleeping.”
The corner where I lay was dark, for the cabin had no windows. And if my life had depended upon speaking, I could have found no fit words then.
She turned from me, and her mood changed swiftly. For she laughed lightly, musically, and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Perchance I am ghost-ridden,” she said.