"The islands, sir. Province of Nueva Ecija." When the lieutenant had gone, the sergeant looked down in an embarrassed fashion at the white road.
"Minerva," he said, "I don't know whether it interests you, but I'm studying pretty hard myself. That's why I asked for this detail. That and one other reason. I'm only a non-commissioned officer, and you're almost a school-teacher. I'm on the wrong side of the line, but I've applied for an examination, and, when this term of enlistment is up I've got a good chance of a commission." He saw her looking at his medal, and heard her saying:
"I should think you would have, Newty."
"Oh," he hastened to tell her, "I mean that I've got an influential friend, who's going to help me."
"Who is that, Newty?" she demanded; and, as he answered, the young sergeant flushed.
"The best soldier in the service, Colonel Henry Falkins."
The girl looked down at the pavement and then up at the tender green of the maples. Her only reply was a low, "Oh!" but her voice said more, and presently she added a question:
"You said, Newty—" her eyes now held a challenging twinkle as she spoke—"that there was one other reason why you asked for this—what do you call it?—oh, yes, I know, this detail. What was that reason?"
The sergeant raised his face, and held her eyes with a steady gaze, until her own eyes fell, and her cheeks grew more rosy.
"That reason," he announced boldly, "is that I want plenty of chance to tell you what the reason is."