“I suppose it will be time enough to see the regiment pass if we are in our places by nine o'clock,” suggested Miss Morton, after a silence.
“I think so,” said her brother. “It is a great affair to break camp, and I don't believe the march will begin till after that time.”
“James has got us one of the windows of Ray & Seymour's offices, you know, Philip,” resumed Miss Morton; “which one did you say, James?”
“The north one.”
“Yes, the north one,” she resumed. “They say every window on Main Street along the route of the regiment is rented. Grace will be with us, you know. You must n't forget to look up at us as you go by—as if the young man were likely to!”
He was evidently not now listening to her at all. His eyes were fastened upon the girl's opposite him, and they seemed to have quite forgotten the others. Miss Morton and her brother exchanged compassionate glances. Tears were in the lady's eyes. A clock in the sitting-room began to strike:
“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.”
Philip started.
“What time is that?” he asked, a little huskily. No one replied at once. Then Mr. Morton said:
“I am afraid it struck seven, my boy.”