"Oh, I say, Miss Searles," said Shockley, riding up, "may I offer you one of my gauntlets? The sun, I fear, will blister your bare hand."
"No, indeed." And Butler tore off a glove, forcing it into her hand. She could not deny him, and pulled it on. "Thank you; I lost one of mine this morning."
Then she turned her eyes on Mr. Shockley with a hard little expression, which sealed him up. He was prompt to feel that the challenge meant war, and war with this girl was the far-away swing of that gallant strategic pendulum.
"Yes," Shockley added, "one is apt to drop things without noting them, in a fast rush. I dropped something myself this morning."
"Pray what was it, Mr. Shockley?"
"It was an idea," he replied with a shrug of the shoulders.
"An idea?" laughed she, appreciating Shockley's discretion. "I hope you have more of them than I have gloves."
"I have only one," he sighed.
"Are all soldiers as stupid as you are, my dear sir?"