"How glorious of you to say that, Marjorie!" he exclaimed.
"You do not know," continued Marjorie rapturously, "how I have longed and longed to have some one to write to, and send parcels to, and everything—some one I really knew!—instead of a bundle of things to be distributed among a whole platoon!"
"And you are going to make me that particular person?" said Roy, joyfully.
"Rather! You see," explained Marjorie with fatal frankness, "I don't know anyone else. At least, I shan't, until Joe—"
Roy's face fell. "I thought there was a catch about it!" he said woefully.
"About what?"
"About what you said. I didn't understand that all you wanted was some one to write to; and any old thing would do—even me! I did hope, for a minute—"
Marjorie was all repentance at once.
"Oh!" she cried. "How hateful of me! Roy, I didn't mean it! What must you think of me? I must seem like a common little war-flapper. But I'm not, am I? Roy, you know I'm not! Will you forgive me?" She extended a hand impetuously.
It fired the train. Next moment Roy had caught it in both of his, and was kissing it rapturously.