"Then you really think that we might become quite good friends in time?"
Kitty flushed. "I'd be proud," she said in a low voice.
"And the Richoter? Have you forgotten that?"
Kitty's flush faded. Yes, strange to say, she had forgotten all about it. It had never once entered her head.
"Yes, I have. I don't care a hang about the Richoter," she replied sturdily.
Duane ran a gentle hand over the fair silky head nestling so confidingly against her shoulder, and a smile lit her eyes and then hovered on her lips—a smile that was strangely sweet.
"Yes, hang the Richoter!" she repeated softly.
A little later and all three girls were sleeping soundly. But the time when they needed all they had of pluck and endurance was yet to come. As the hours passed, the chill, raw, penetrating cold crept through the thin covering of straw and through their thick overcoats. They awoke in the early hours of the morning when it was still inky dark, cramped and cold right through. By the feeble light of the remaining lantern the mist could be seen hovering in greyish wisps in the bare hut. They tramped up and down the narrow space at their disposal and went through all the drill tables they could remember, to keep circulation flowing. The two older girls looked after the younger as best they could, realizing that she was not only the youngest but the frailest physically of the three. As Duane remarked cheerfully, she and Kitty were "as hard as nails."
The colder they grew, the higher Duane's spirits seemed to rise, and the more nonsense she talked. Kitty and Erica had not her aptitude in that way, but they showed their grit by their readiness to laugh. Kitty came to a better realization of the head prefect's character in those three hours before the dawn. The Australian had as much courage as any one, but the other girl's was of a kind she had not understood till now; it sprang from a pride that would meet danger or death with a laugh and a jest rather than a prayer; the same pride of race that sent the old French aristocrats to the guillotine as if they were driving to the King's levee at Versailles.
Erica, too, never murmured. Duane and Kitty declared she was a little brick.