"For our husbands' sake—it does not do to have ill-feeling between the wives. Then the husbands quarrel, and there must be no ill-feeling between comrades."
Nora shook her head.
"I'm afraid I'm no good at pretending," she said.
"But you will try—for your good Wolff's sake? See, I will help you—if you will let me."
Nora took the outstretched hand. Her moment's anger had gone—dispersed by the simple appeal "for Wolff's sake."
"You are very good to me," she said gratefully, "and I will try and do what is right. Everything is so new and strange to me."
"I know, I know. But you will see—all will go so smooth—so smooth. One day I will go with you to the Mayos. I have my little English, and that will make it easier. My poor English!" She gave another of her comfortable chuckles. "He is so very bad."
"Oh, not at all!" Nora hastened to reassure her politely. "It is really quite good—considering. I can understand everything you say."
There was a rather sudden silence, and to her alarm Nora observed that her visitor's pink cheeks had turned a bright scarlet, and that there was a look of almost childish disappointment in the large brown eyes. "What have I done?" Nora thought, and then, before she had time to fathom the mystery, the good-natured little woman had recovered her equanimity as suddenly as she had lost it.
"You and I must be great friends," she said. "Our husbands are so—great friends, and then, of course, you belong to the regiment—at least"—she corrected herself hastily, and almost apologetically—"your husband is on the Staff now, and will make a brilliant career, whilst my poor Mann has only a year's Kommando. Still, you did belong to the regiment, did you not? And that always makes a bond."