The soldier looked very balky indeed, and his firm mouth got itself into fine shape again, till he looked into Mary Amber’s eyes and saw the saucy, beautiful lights there; and then he broke down laughing.
“Well, you’ve caught me by guile,” he said; “and I guess we’re about even. I’ll go back and make my adieus myself to Miss Marilla.”
A little curve of satisfaction settled about Mary Amber’s mouth.
“Put that coat on, please,” she said, and the soldier put it on gratefully. He was beginning to feel a reaction from his battle with Mary Amber, and now that he was defeated the coat seemed most desirable.
“Don’t you think it would be a good idea if you would tell me who you really are?” asked Mary Amber. “It might save some embarrassment.”
“Why, certainly!” said the soldier in surprise. “It hadn’t occurred to me; that’s all. I’m Lyman Gage, of Chicago.” He named also his rank and regiment in the army. Then, looking at her curiously, he said, hesitating:
“I’m--perfectly respectable, you know. I don’t really make a practice of going around sponging on unprotected ladies.”
Her cheeks flamed a gorgeous scarlet, and her eyes looked rebuked.
“I suppose I ought to apologize,” she said. “But really, you know, it looked rather peculiar to me--” She stopped suddenly, for he was seized with another fit of coughing, which had so shrill a sound that she involuntarily turned to look at him with anxious eyes.
“I s’pose it did look queer,” he managed to say at last; “but you know that day when I came in I didn’t care a hang.” He dropped his head wearily against the car, and closed his eyes for just a second, as if the keeping of them open was a great effort.
“You’re all in now!” she said sharply. “And you’re shivering! You ought to be in bed this minute.” Her voice held deep concern. “Where is that telegraph-office? We’ll just leave word for them to forward the message if it hasn’t come and then we’ll fly back.”
“Oh, I must wait for that message,” he said, straightening up with a hoarse effort and opening his eyes sharply. “It is really imperative.”
She stopped the car in front of the telegraph-office. The little operator, scenting a romance, scuttled out of the door with an envelope in her hand and a different look on her face from the one she had worn when she went to her lunch. To tell the truth, she had not had much faith in that soldier nor in the message he had sent “collect.” She hadn’t believed any answer would come, or at least any favorable one.