Why had he asked the name of Frank's father?
These questions presented themselves to the boy for consideration, and he remembered how, on hearing the name, the stranger had confessed that it was unfamiliar to him.
Frank was thinking deeply of these things, when a familiar voice called:
"Hello, Frank! Are you going past without speaking?"
He started and looked up, finding himself in front of Inza's home. It was a fine, old-fashioned house, built years and years ago, and an iron fence surrounded the front lawn. Inza was at the gate, a pretty pout on her face.
The young cadet instantly lifted his cap, as he smilingly retorted:
"I did not see you there, Miss Burrage."
"Oh, bother your 'Miss Burrage!'" she exclaimed. "You know it was Inza with you long ago—you promised to call me that. No wonder you didn't see me; you were going past with your head down, your eyes on the ground, and an expression of profound abstraction on your face. What in the world were you thinking of?"
"That's a mystery," said Frank, approaching the gate.
"Indeed!" and she lifted her eyebrows with a pretty Assumption of offended dignity. "A secret from me?"