“Oh, but I’m not,” said Dorothea positively.
The young man’s glance fell to the red velvet ribbon on the girl’s wrist and then sought her face. He was perplexed and a little startled.
“Then who is the Red String? The other lady?” he asked.
“Oh, no,” Dorothea replied quickly. “Miss Imogene couldn’t be, you know. We were just sorry for the prisoners at Andersonville. That was why we helped you.” At that moment she was convinced that Val Tracy was the elusive member of that mysterious band of Northern sympathizers, but this thought she kept to herself.
“Then I suppose you will betray me now?” he questioned. “I shouldn’t have told you of my mission!”
“I’m neutral, or at least I ought to be,” Dorothea replied, perplexed. “Anyway, I shan’t betray you. Only you mustn’t expect me to help you, either.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the return of Corinne, accompanied by Mrs. Stewart and Harriot. As Dorothea had expected, Corinne was by no means pleased by this audience to share with her the glory of attending “one of our wounded heroes,” as she expressed it, and Dorothea watched the proceedings, half fearful and half amused. Stanchfield became again the suffering soldier and Dorothea dared not catch his eye for fear she might laugh out-right. It was no easy matter to keep a straight face listening to the excessive expressions of sympathy that Mrs. Stewart and her daughter thought appropriate to the occasion.
The farce kept up till Stanchfield could eat no more and, with many protestations of thanks, hobbled off, glad, Dorothea knew, to be on the road with his message that must be delivered.
On their way home Harriot complained that Dorothea was very silent.
“You behave as if you were starving,” Harriot told her, as they strolled through Coulter Woods.