"I do not understand you, Lieutenant Melville," she said, turning upon me an inquiring look. "You seem to speak in metaphors to-night."
"If so," I replied, "I may again plead your noble example. I do not understand you at all to-night, Miss Desmond."
"Our conversation has been of a military character," she replied, smiling for the first time. "So gallant an officer as you, Lieutenant Melville, should understand that, while all of it may well be a puzzle to me, a woman, whom the sound of a trumpet frightens, it is easy enough for you to comprehend it."
"It is this time I who ask the pardon, Miss Desmond," I replied, "if I say that is the language of compliment, of the drawing-room."
She made no reply, but bent forward to inhale the odor of a flower that blossomed near her. I too was silent, for I knew not whether she wished me to go or stay, or cared naught for either. From the drawing-room came the sound of music, but she made no movement to go.
"I have had thoughts about you, too, Miss Desmond," I said, at length, after some minutes of embarrassment, for me at least.
"I trust that such thoughts have been of a pleasant nature, Lieutenant Melville," she said, turning her deep eyes upon me again.
"I have thought," I continued, "that you too felt a certain sympathy for the rebels, your misguided countrymen."
"What reasons have I furnished for such a supposition?" she replied, coldly. "Are you in the habit, Lieutenant Melville, of attributing treasonable thoughts to the best friends of the king's cause."
This I thought was carrying the matter to a very extreme point, but it was not for me, who called myself a gentleman, to say so aloud.