“It’s only across the garden and through the hedge, you know,” she said in a low tone; “but I think she would appreciate it.”
“Certainly,” he said, and turned with perfect courtesy as Mary looked in at the door and called, “Good night.”
He did not make a fuss about attending her. He simply was there close beside her as she sped through the dark without a word to him.
“It’s been very pleasant to meet you,” he said as she turned with a motion of dismissal at her own steps, “again,” he added lamely. “I—I’ve enjoyed the evening more than you can understand. I enjoyed your singing.”
“Oh! My singing!” flung back Mary. “Why, I was like a sparrow beside a nightingale. It wasn’t quite fair of you to let me sing first without knowing you had a voice. It’s strange. You know you never used to sing.”
It seemed to him her glance went deep as she looked at him through the shadows of the garden. He thought about it as he crept back through the hedge, shivering now, for the night was keen and his uniform was thin. Well, what did it matter what she thought? He would soon be far away from her and never likely to see her again. Yet he was glad he had scored a point, one point against Girl in the concrete.
Now he must go in and bid his hostess good-by, and then away to—where?