“Whatever you were going to say. Most likely it was that there’s something or other I don’t know about, but I do know this. You were sent here to recover, and you haven’t nearly had enough time for it yet.”
“I do look as if a high wind would blow me away, don’t I?” he laughed.
“No matter how you look, you ought not to go. You are just making fun of it, as you always do of everything. No matter, you can have all the fun you like, but the whole thing is settled; you are not going away at all, you are going to stay here,” she concluded with most decided but winning emphasis.
“Oh, I’m not going? Well, that is quite a change for me,” said Thorne composedly. He laid his hat back on the table and came closer to Edith. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling me what I am going to do.”
“I don’t mind at all, and it is this. You see, I have been to see—I am almost afraid to tell you.”
“Don’t tell me,” said the man with sudden seriousness, laying aside all his pleasantry, “because it can’t be true. I have my orders, and I am leaving to-night.”
“Where—to Petersburg—to the front?”
“We can’t always tell where orders will take us,” he said evasively, again sitting down beside her on the lounge.
He could scarcely tear himself away from her, from the delicious yet painful emotion aroused by her presence. He ought to have gone long since, yet he was with her, as he supposed, for the last time. Surely he might indulge himself a little. He loved her so desperately, so hopelessly.
“But listen,” said the girl; “supposing there were other orders, orders from a higher authority, appointing you to duty here?”