"Why, you're a major," she retorted.
"So I am. But peace soldiering didn't suit me and I went into my father's business. I'm going to join up again when America fights--and she must."
"I'm glad to hear that," she said.
"Thanks. It'll take time--but it's coming. Why, if I thought we weren't going to help put an end to this desolation over here...."
He grew suddenly shy, and broke off. Then:
"Let me be your banker now." He put a roll of notes into her hand. "You'll be glad of it before you're through with Poland, believe me."
She thanked him, prettily, so he thought. Her first impulse was to refuse the money. Then she reflected that they all might be glad of it one day. The American's kindness touched her, and she showed it; this flattered him. He had a susceptible heart and innate chivalry, inherited from Irish forebears.
"Oh--how am I to thank you?" she murmured, blushing redder than he had been a moment before.
"By using it to get out of this desert as soon as you can," he returned quickly. "I hate to leave you here--in danger."
"But there is none--yet. Look here, Major Healy, do let me give you a cheque on my London bank for it."