And the color that mounted to Mr. Davies's forehead, a cloud of embarrassment, told plainly that the shot was a centre. He had not recovered himself when the captain again turned, saying they must go to the commanding officer's quarters at once or be too late.
"Remember, you are to come and lunch with us, Mr. Davies," said the captain's wife, as he was saying adieu.
"I—I'm afraid I can't, Mrs. Cranston," was his answer. "We march so soon, and I have so many preparations to make."
"Preparations? Why, what on earth have you been doing ever since you came up to the post?" asked his witless or too witty tormentor. "He's simply eager to get off by himself somewhere and devour his ration of spoon meat. I know how it is, Mrs. Cranston. I was there ten years ago." And Davies's low-toned protestations were drowned in the jovial tones of his burly comrade.
"I'll come to say good-by to-night, perhaps," he stammered, as he was led away, still clutching his packet; but Miss Loomis had turned and gone within-doors before the visitors reached the gate.
"I'm sorry to hear of it," said Captain Cranston, when later that evening his wife was laughingly telling of Davies's betrayal and confusion. "I always feel distressed to find a young fellow, just entering service, has already enlisted in one much more exacting. I was in love when I graduated myself."
And Davies didn't come to say adieu. He wrote a note to Mrs. Cranston saying he found so many duties crowding on him at the last moment, so many home letters to be written owing to his having left in such haste, that it was impossible for him to leave camp. He begged her to say good-by for him to Miss Loomis, whom he sincerely hoped he might meet again, and with his best wishes for the captain's speedy recovery and restoration to duty, he begged to subscribe himself her friend and most obedient servant.
"Now, I like that young fellow," said Mrs. Cranston, folding up the letter, "only I didn't——"
"Well, didn't what?" asked her companion, seeing that she had faltered for a word.
"Well—he didn't act at all like an engaged man,—like he ought to have acted," said Mrs. Cranston, with honest disdain of masculine flirts or malevolent rules of speech, due perhaps to long association with belles of the Blue Grass country.