Virgie cast a troubled gaze into the plate before her.
"Er—no, sir."
"What? Why not?"
She faltered, and answered slowly:
"'Cause—'cause you're one of the damn Yankees."
"Oh! oh! oh!" exclaimed the soldier, shocked to hear a baby's lips profaned. "Little girls shouldn't use such words. Why, Virgie!"
She raised her eyes, clear, fearless, filled with vindicating innocence.
"Well, it's your name, isn't it? Everybody calls you that."
"Um—yes," he admitted, striving to check the twitching of his lips; "I suppose they do—south of Washington. But don't you know we are just like other people?" She shook her head. "Oh, yes, we are. Why, I have a little girl at home—not any bigger than you."
"Have you?" asked Virgie, her budding racial prejudice at war with youthful curiosity. "What's her name?"