She touched with the tip of her finger his dangling aiguillettes. The touch thrilled him.
“Did you hear me?” he went on. All her mockery had not been heard. She knew it had not been heard, and she tried to say more, but her mind would not work; she caught her breath. They were alone on that side of the great hall. He leaned closer.
“Did you hear me?” he went on. “You shall see me so if you will. I’ll take you there—will you go?”
She laughed softly.
“It would be a treat, wouldn’t it,” she said, “to see yo’ on yo’ native heath?”
His face remained serious. His jaw set.
“Dade,” he said, and she flushed crimson, “it’s no use—I can’t say it right—only—I love you, that’s all.”
She hung her head.
“Do you hear, darling?” he continued, bending nearer. “Do you hear? You must excuse the bluntness of a soldier—I love you, that’s all there is to it.”
He clutched the scabbard of his saber in his nervousness. Her hand had fallen to her side, and with his own he seized it, and crushed it between them.