"I understand," he answered—"more's the pity.—How is Lorraine?"
"Better—he sent for me yesterday."
His eyes sought her face questioningly.
"I went—and stayed a minute," she replied. "I hope I wasn't in too great hurry to get away. It was ghastly, however—perfectly ghastly! I trust he doesn't send for me again. Don't let us talk about it," and she gave a little shudder and reached for her sherry.
Burgoyne, on her left, caught her eye as she did so and raised his glass.
"How!" he said.
"When did you join the Army!" she asked, as the glasses were replaced.
"Whenever we drink a toast to a pretty woman!" he laughed. "It's better than the navy's 'sweethearts and wives.' Sometimes it is a trifle awkward to drink to them both, you know."
He did not realize how it would sound to her until he ended—then he tried to gasp it back.