“Wasn’t meant as an impertinence, though perhaps it was one. Always doing the wrong things at that time, wasn’t I? And I’m saying ’em now. Born under bad stars.” He laughed a little and paused. “Jove! what wonderful things you’ve done, though.”
“I’ve had luck.” Her voice was firm at last.
“Not more than you deserve. Hell of a time in Serbia ... must have had. Don’t know how you managed to come through it.”
“Just the stars.” Sally laughed a little now. But never in her life had she felt so little like laughing. She remembered that she used to think him a bounder; she remembered how much his proposal had annoyed her. Yet he was just the same now—the same Harold Nixey—only raised to a higher power. Once she had despised his habit of thinking aloud, yet now it almost enchanted her....
But she was not very forthcoming. He seemed to have to do the talking for both. “Fritz beginning to get cold feet, do you think?”
She didn’t think so.
“What are you doing now?” It was the dry tone of the professional soldier.
“I’m detailed for special duty in France.” The tone of Sally was professional also.
He sighed a gentle, “When?”
“Off to-morrow.”