gazed at Sally through an imaginary lorgnette. Only the spotlight was lacking, and the round-brimmed yellow hat on the back of her head indeed gave that effect.
"So you're the sweet little bride who left poor Philip flat."
Fairly angry was Sally now, at the impudence of the stranger.
"Who are you? How did you know that?" Suddenly it dawned on her, the headstones—the church gallery—that mocking face!
The newcomer lowered her voice from the grande dame falsetto to its own natural harsh level.
"Oh, I was behind the scenes, it was a great show."
"How did you get down here anyway?" returned the smaller girl sharply, for she could be spitfire enough when the occasion rose. But there was no malice in the stranger now. That night she herself had felt so defenceless, but out here in the open, the obsession, all fears, were gone.
So, thinking that she would be civil anyway, even if the stranger was too rude and personal, she added:
"I beg your pardon, I didn't mean to be impolite, but it's queer the way people are always bobbing up on this island that's supposed to be deserted!"
"Ain't it the truth! I tell Mac—he's the boss of the expedition—the place is hoodooed. Did yuh pipe those skeletons?"
"Pipe—I beg your pardon."
"Pipe? why lamp—get a look at 'em, I mean—they're back in that cove."
