"You forget this is no common corps," Cranbrook laughed.
"That's quite smart!" she laughed, in return, patting his hand coquettishly. The action stirred Cranbrook strangely. "But tell me about him. He speaks like a gentleman—English; and he can recite. He seems very popular, too."
"Yes, he's not bad-looking. I should think he's public schools—Eton, Harrow, y'know. He was in my division at Edmonton a year ago. Name's Humphries—a buck constable. Quite a card—rather wild, I'm afraid, but humourous all the time. Of course, he's got a past—must have."
"A woman?" she questioned quickly.
He flushed a little.
"I suppose so. He's too fond of 'em, I'm afraid."
"Can one be too fond of a woman?" she cooed.
"It depends on the woman—of course!" he answered with a touch of gallantry. "There are other things—cards—and—er—" Suddenly realizing that he was playing traitor to his sex and also touching on matters best left alone, he switched abruptly to a former line. "Yes, he can recite, as you say. Writes 'em all himself, too!"
"No—really? How romantic!"
"Yes. Oh, he's rather unique. Does conjuring tricks, plays the guitar, composes his own music for his own songs, and spouts Latin when he's—when he's under the weather."