"Well, tell her to see me at the Orderly Room in the morning."
"I told her that, sir, but she says it's privit', sir. Wants to see you alone, sir. I told her to go, but she swore she'd wait. 'No women allowed in barracks after Retreat,' I says. 'Garn, chase yerself. You go an' retreat!' she says. 'I'm goin' to see Major Adair.'
"All right. Show her in."
The girl was very young and not bad-looking. She was, in fact, pretty, with big eyes, clear complexion and blue-black hair. She wore a home-made dress of more or less fashionable cut and a saucy little hat trimmed with a marvellous assortment of flowers.
Her air, on entering, was one of bravado, but a glance at Hector quite banished it and she hesitated, nervously entwining her hands, near the door. Blythe surveyed her with ill-concealed triumph. She had been very bold until confronted by the great 'Spirit-of-Iron' himself. Where was that boldness now?
"Well, young lady," said Hector kindly. "What can I do for you? Come in and sit down, won't you?"
Still she hesitated.
Finally, in a husky whisper, she answered, "Please, sir, I'd rather stand."
"All right," he replied good-humouredly. "But won't you tell me what you want?"
"It's—it's private. I wanta see you—alone."