“I beg your pardon, but my stare is excusable! I seem to know you better than anyone—and yet until now I’d only seen you by moonlight.”
“That excuse is moonshine,” she rejoined with a laugh.
Presently her mother came forward, and cruelly interrupted a confidential talk, saying:
“Darling, Lord Hubert has come and brought something he wants to show you.” (Lord Hubert was reported to be “making the running” with the little de Lisle girl.)
Mr. Hegan was duly bidden to dinner, also to a dance given by Mrs. de Lisle, and gratefully accepted both invitations; but he soon realised the awful chasm that lay between him and an heiress. How dared he compete with the son of a Duke? Hopeless and heartbroken he withdrew into obscurity—that is to say, his quarters in Canterbury Barracks. When war had been declared, and his regiment was under orders, Hegan snatched an hour’s leave to say good-bye to Vera—no harm in that!—and he had the good fortune to find her at home, and alone.
“So we are at war!” she exclaimed; “it seems incredible, a hideous nightmare, and I’ve led you into what may be battle, and sudden death.”
“I’m thankful that you did—anyway, of course I’d have joined now, but I’m a more useful unit as it is. Wish me luck.”
“I wish you good luck, honours, and a safe return.”
“I’m not sure that that matters. You see, I’ve no belongings, and no one to care, if I ever come back.”
“I care,” she announced unexpectedly.