CHAPTER XXII
THE YOUNG SOLDIER.
“Inza Burrage—is it possible?”
Inza started and looked up.
The speaker, a straight, finely formed youth, had paused by her seat on the train. As there was no Pullman car on the train that ran to Fardale, Mr. Burrage had been made as comfortable as possible with cushions and was sitting opposite Inza, who was riding backward.
The one who uttered the words recorded wore a uniform of the regular army, but he was scarcely more than a boy in years, though he had a light-brown mustache. His face was bronzed by exposure to all sorts of weather.
“I can’t be mistaken,” he said, looking down at her. “This must be Miss Burrage?”
There was something faintly familiar about him, and yet she did not know him.
“I am Miss Burrage,” she acknowledged; “but you have the advantage, sir.”
He laughed.
“Is it possible I have changed so much?” he said, offering his hand in a manner that betokened the utmost confidence. “Look at me closely, Miss Burrage.”