But the tall quartermaster was withheld
from such incredible presumption. Her beautiful gown against his
common serge typified, as it were, the gulf between them. Her
distress, her agitation, were in his mind due to her concern for
Howard Quintan; and he told her again and again, with manly
sincerity, that he would take good care of her boy.
She knew he loved her. It had been plain to her for weeks past.
She knew every thought in his head as he sat there beside her,
thrilled with the touch of her hands, and in the throes of a
respectful rapture. Again and again the avowal was on his lips; he
longed to tell her how dear she was to him; it would be hard to
die with that unsaid, were he to be amongst those who never
returned. It never occurred to him that she might return his love.
A woman like her! A queen!
She could easily have helped him out. More than once she was on
the point of doing so. But the woman in her rebelled at the
thought of taking what was the man's place. She had something of
the exaggerated delicacy of an old maid. It was for him to ask,
for her to answer; and the precious moments slipped away. At last,
greatly daring, he managed to blurt out the fact that he wanted to
ask a favour.
"A favour?" she said.
"Won't you give me something," he said timidly, "some little thing
to take with me to remember you by?"
She replied she would with pleasure. She wanted him to remember
her. What was it that he would like?
"There is nothing I could refuse you," she said, smiling.
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