Mary Amber’s tone stated that she herself was not in the least worked up about a great, hulking soldier that would let a woman wait on him for several days hand and foot, and then run away when her back was turned.
“Kindly tell her that I am sorry I troubled her, but that it is not possible for me to return at present,” he answered stiffly. “I came down to send a business telegram, and I am waiting for an answer.”
A sudden shiver seized him, and rippled involuntarily over his big frame. Mary Amber was eying him contemptuously, but a light of pity stole into her eyes as she saw him shiver.
“You are cold!” said Mary Amber as if she were charging him with an offence.
“Well, that’s not strange—is it—on a day like this? I haven’t made connections yet with an overcoat and gloves; that’s all.”
“Look here; if you are cold, you’ve simply got to get into this car and let me take you back to Miss Marilla. You’ll catch your death of cold sitting there like that.”
“Well, I may be cold; but I don’t have to let you take me anywhere. When I get ready to go, I’ll walk. As for catching my death of cold, that’s strictly my own affair. There’s nobody in the world would care if I did.”
The soldier had blue lights like steel in his eyes, and his mouth looked very soldier-like indeed. His whole manner showed that there wasn’t the least use in the world trying to argue with him.
Mary Amber eyed him with increasing interest and thoughtfulness.
“You’re mistaken,” she said grudgingly. “There’s one. There’s Miss Marilla. She’d break her heart. She’s like that; and she hasn’t much to care for in the world, either. Which makes it all the worse what you’ve done. Oh, I don’t see how you could deceive her.”