"Freaky, if I were you, I'd let him take care of me as he thinks best; and of himself, too. You are a brave man, Mr. Kindred."
"'The Lord cover his head in the day of battle,'" said a low voice behind Magnus. He turned quickly, but perhaps the speaker had turned too, for he saw no sign.
"I thought you wouldn't fight?" said Miss Lane, laughing up at him.
As for Miss Freak, she pouted, and made believe cry; and Randolph darted over to the great bowl, coming back with a glass of punch in each hand, one for his own companion and one for Miss Freak.
"Such airs!" commented portly Mrs. Chose, sailing by. "Setting himself up above the rest of the world. Just the way with those West Pointers. I told you so, Miranda; more strut than sense. I'll never take you to West Point again."
"Oh, yes you will," said Miss Miranda cheerfully, "because I'm going. Give me the strut, every time."
"I admire your courage, Mr. Kindred," said another lady; "it is quite touching in so young a man. But I am always sorry to see a fine thing wasted, thrown away: misdirected zeal, you know, for instance. You cannot think for a moment that one of those small glasses of punch could affect a person in any way?"
"It might make him want another, Mrs. Bright," Magnus answered respectfully. She was a very pleasant, sensible woman, and had always been very kind to him.
"Want another? Well, let him have it. Two such glasses of simple punch? Why, the head that wouldn't stand that isn't worth the purchase."
"Mine would be worth more before than it would after," Magnus answered gaily, but not without a twinge.