Penitent she was now and supplicating in her woman's way.
"He's had lots of chances—lots of chances. Do you think he's worth all this?"
"Sure he is." She was very confident. "And, I love him."
"How long have you known him—he's only been here about three weeks, remember."
"About—that, I guess," she faltered. "But I know he's all right. He's a gennelmun—a real one—an' all he needs is a chance."
"You're a stout little lover," said Hector gently. "But he's a hard one to save. Is that what you're trying to do?"
She hung her head.
"Yes," she whispered. Then, pleadingly, "Oh, Major,—please, Major—if you'd ever loved like I do—"
"How do you know I have not?" he asked.
"All the better, then! Oh, Gee, I'm crazy about him—just crazy—an' he is, too—about me, I mean. Why, he writes pomes to me!"