“Not at all. Pity she’s so brown.”
“Yes, rather; but I say, Chum.”
“Hullo!”
“I’ll bet a dollar she squeezed your hand when you were coming away, eh?”
“Never tell tales out of school,” said Chumbley, slowly. “Squeezes of hands leave no impression, so they don’t count. I didn’t ask you if you squeezed Helen Perowne’s hand.”
“I shouldn’t mind if you did, old lad. Perhaps so; but don’t bother, and pass me a match.”
Chumbley chuckled softly to himself; and after a time they finished their cigars and turned in, the lieutenant sleeping soundly, while the rest of the principal personages in this narrative were wakeful and tossing from side to side, perhaps the most restless being the successful beauty, Helen Perowne.