"Why, you do not look!" said Rose. "See how the shadow lies on the river. Please go! Just run on; never mind me."
"Never mind you!" said Bouché, taking leisurely steps at her side. "Not if I know it."
"Mr. Bouché, you will be late."
"Like enough. The first sergeant of D Company will tell it with his hand on his heart, regretfully adding: ''Tis true, 'tis pity; pity 'tis, 'tis true.' And old Powder Flask will jump for joy in his regulation shoes."
"What for?"
"The chance of skinning me for the ninety-ninth time this week."
"Well, I'll not be responsible for his joy," said Rose. "Good-bye!" And as they came to one of the many cross-paths that led towards the plain, Rose suddenly turned up the ascent, running so lightly and easily that it was almost as pretty to see as the regular double-time. Bouché stood open-eyed for a second, and then came up with her, fuming.
"Now this is atrocious, preposterous, unheard of!" he said. "I don't care a button for a 'late.'"
"Well, you should," said Rose, laughing round at him, keeping her pace and her breath admirably. "And this might turn into a cold absence. You ought to care. Magnus says discipline counts. There's a different sort of text for you."
"I vow!" said Bouché. "Don't you give me any of his wise sayings, or I'll punch his head when I get back to barracks, the first thing."