“No, you're wrong, there's another reason, but I shan't tell you.”
“My boxes are filled with rose leaves now,” said Virginia. “Betty gathered them for me.”
The smile leaped to his eyes. “Oh, but it makes me homesick,” he returned lightly. “If I tell you a secret, don't betray me, Virginia—I am downright homesick for Betty.”
Virginia patted his hand.
“So am I,” she confessed, “and so is Mammy Riah—she's with me now, you know—and she says that I might have been married without Jack, but never without Betty. Betty made my dress and iced my cake and pinned on my veil.”
“Ah, is that so?” exclaimed Dan, absent-mindedly. He was thinking of Betty, and he could almost see her hands as she pinned on the wedding veil—those small white hands with the strong fingers that had closed about his own.
“When you get your furlough you must go home, Dan,” Virginia was saying; “the Major is very feeble and—and he quarrels with almost everyone.”
“My furlough,” repeated Dan, with a laugh. “Why, the war may end to-morrow and then we'll all go home together and kill the fatted calf among us. Yes, I'd like to see the old man again before I die.”
“I pray every night that the war may end tomorrow,” said Virginia, “but it never does.” Then she turned eagerly to the Governor, who was coming toward them under the leafless trees along the street.
“Here's Dan, papa, do make him come in and be good.”