"I believe you'd like to don boy's clothes like Rosalind and follow me to the wars! By Jove, what a Rosalind you'd make!"
His happy carelessness hurt.
"You forget I am lame," she said, a trifle bitterly.
His face fell.
"That isn't kind," he protested, "not at the last! Don't send me away feeling that I have been a ruffian to you."
Her composure gave way then. With a little cry she put her arms round his neck and kissed him.
"You have nothing to reproach yourself with, my dear, my dear! Go!--forget all about women! Go! You've done your best, so fight your best!"
He gave her back her kiss as he might have given it to his sister.
"Yes, Marmie," he said, "I'm beginning to think we really did the right thing, for we can be friends all the same; for the present, at any rate."
His mixture of wisdom and foolishness made her smile at him, as some mothers might smile at a high-spirited boy, and she watched his martial figure go swinging down the street, its flamboyance admissible, admirable, and told herself it was good that he was free both of herself and Lady Amabel.