"I am sure he is neutral like my father, and such will not be annoyed."
"I wish I could be sure of that, but——," and Pauline suddenly checked herself as if fearful of giving expression to her suspicions.
"You must remember, my dear, that these Americans are not so black as they are painted. They are men like others, and true soldiers are always merciful," added Zulma.
"Indeed! Do you think so? I hardly know what to say about them. Father says very little of late, but there is a friend of ours who speaks of them in terms of hostility."
"He must be an ultra loyalist."
"He is a British officer."
"A British officer? Why, Pauline, I thought your father kept aloof from British officials."
"Oh, but this one is really a Canadian and speaks French like ourselves," said Pauline, blushing.
"That makes all the difference," replied Zulma, with a pleasant laugh that was slightly tinged with sarcasm. "I declare I should like to know this specimen."
"You know him, dear."