"Is that the only reason you do not ask me to speak of it?" I said, still bent upon going deeper into the matter.
"Will you speak of it when I ask you not to do so?" she said.
I did not expect such a question, but I replied in the negative with much haste. But presently I said, thinking to compliment her, that, however my own sympathies might be placed, I must admit that she had done a very brave deed, and that I could not withhold my admiration. But she replied with some curtness that Captain Wildfoot had said that first,—which was true enough, though I had thought it as early as he. Had it been any other woman, I would have inferred from her reply that her vanity was offended. But it was not possible to think such a thing of Mary Desmond on that night.
"Have you any heart for this task?" she asked me, with much suddenness, a few minutes later.
"What task?" I replied, surprised.
"The task that the king has set for his army,—the attempt to crush the Colonies," she replied.
There was much embarrassment in the question for me, and I sought to take refuge in compliment.
"That you are enlisted upon the other side, Miss Desmond," I replied, "is enough to weaken the attachment of any one to the king's service."
"This is not a drawing-room," she replied, looking at me with clear eyes, "nor has the business which we have been about to-night any savor of the drawing-room. Let us then drop such manner of speech."
She was holding me at arm's length, but I made some rambling, ambiguous reply, to the effect that a soldier should have no opinions, but should do what he is told to do,—which, though a very good argument, does not always appease one's conscience. But she did not press the question further,—which was a relief to me.