"So long as that Captain remains strapped to his board in the library," she assured us, "I snap my fingers at 'em."
"Then you will confess," says I, "that Captain Grantley has the power to disconcert you?"
"Well—yes," says she reluctantly, "because—well Captain Grantley is the devil."
"He is the devil," says I, triumphantly, "never a doubt about it. 'Tis the only phrase that fits him, and I've employed it several times myself. Prue, do you know that I hate—I detest—that man, and yet, and yet"
"And yet," says Prue, breathing hard, and her vermilion lips studded with two white teeth, "Bab, I quite agree with you that there is always a big 'and yet' sticking out of the Captain's character."
Further discourse was cut off by the unceremonious entry of two soldiers. The first was Corporal Flickers. His eye fell on three flaunting petticoats, and three faces of bold brilliancy surmounting them. Nothing to denote the thin and haggard fugitive in these. It would be uncharitable to blame the man for permitting himself to be so beautifully fooled, for the serene interest of Miss Prue and her innocent wonderment at the Corporal's appearance would have defied the majority of his intellectual betters to unmask her. And Miss Prue was so radiantly calm in the presence of the Corporal that I am sure the pungent jest delighted her indeed.
Now I hope you will remember that this Mr.
