"What did you do?" she asked again.
"I went to the war with what I could take—nothing but a picture."
"And you lost that?"
"Yes—under peculiar circumstances. It seemed a kind thing to do at the time."
"And you came back with—"
"With yours, Little Miss!"
Some excitement throbbed between us so that I had involuntarily emphasized my words. Briefly her eyes clung to mine, and very slowly we relaxed from that look.
"I only wanted to say," she began presently, "that I shall have to believe your absurd tale of my picture being with you before you saw me. Something makes me credit it—a strange little notion that I have carried that child's picture in my own mind."
"We are even, then," I answered, "only you are thinking more things than you say. That isn't fair."
But she only nodded her head inscrutably.