"It does seem as if I'd seen the face before somewhere," she remarked, "but I don't appear to place it. It is getting so dark, too. No, I can't imagine. Who is it?"
She had risen to her feet and was peering down at the dead man, her pretty brows knitted in perplexity.
"He recognized you!" said Dwight, with significant gravity. "It's Marsena Pulford."
"Oh, poor man!" exclaimed Julia. "If he'd only spoken to me I would gladly have fanned him, too. But I was so anxious about the Colonel here that I never took a fair look at him. I dare say I shouldn't have recognized him, even then. Beards do change one so, don't they!"
Then she turned to Colonel Starbuck and made answer to the inquiry of his lifted eyebrows.
"The unfortunate man," she explained, "was our village photographer. I sat to him for my picture several times. I think I have one of them over at the Commission tent now."
"I'll go this minute and seize it!" the gallant Colonel vowed, getting to his feet.
"Take care! We unprotected females have a man trap there!" Julia warned him; but fear did not deter the staff officer from taking her arm and leaning on it as they walked away in the twilight.
Then the night fell, and Dwight buried Marsena.