"Mr. Harding," she burst out, "do you,—you don't think I am a chatterbox,—I mean that I tell everything I know,—do you?"
The young officer laughed, though he looked his surprise, and his brown eyes twinkled as he said, "Why, not quite so bad as that, Lucy. I never said so, anyway, so why the row with me?"
"Oh, I know you didn't say so," Lucy assured him hastily. "I'm only asking you if you don't think I can keep a secret; because I know I can." Then before Mr. Harding could answer she persisted, "Is the Twenty-Eighth going over this week? Won't you tell me?"
Mr. Harding smiled at the flushed and eager face lifted to his, but the smile was a thoughtful one as he answered, "You must think the Colonel takes me into his confidence. What put that idea into your head?"
"Oh,—lots of things," said Lucy impatiently. "You won't tell me, will you?"
"Supposing that I knew something to tell, and the orders were secret—would you expect me to?"
Lucy's eyes lighted up and she smiled at her friend with a sudden satisfaction. "No, I wouldn't, and I'm a silly goose to bother you, but I wanted dreadfully to know, and no news will ever be spread through me or Julia."
"Well, I don't see any news to spread," remarked Mr. Harding, opening the door, "except that I shall have a warm reception from the Major if I stay palavering with you and William any longer."