The clerk said he would, and that the rooms for the party would be ready whenever they desired to take possession.
Grace returned to the veranda, and, as she stepped out, she halted and gazed in amazement. Elfreda, Hippy and the others of her party were speaking with a tall, bronzed man of distinguished appearance. With him were a gentleman and three ladies. Grace recognized him of the distinguished bearing instantly.
“General Gordon! How do you do!” she greeted, flushing with pleasure.
The general strode forward and grasped both her hands.
“My dear Mrs. Gray, I am happy beyond words to see you again. This is my wife; and Colonel Cartwright, the colonel’s sister, and Mrs. Cartwright. The colonel served with us in France, but I believe you never met him, which was a misfortune for both.”
“This young woman,” announced the general to his friends, but in a tone of voice loud enough to be heard by most persons on the veranda, “saved my life on the battlefield in the Argonne. Had it not been for her, I should not be here. I have already told Mrs. Gordon the story.”
“Please, General,” begged Grace, flushing with embarrassment, but the general went on unheeding.
“Mrs. Gray dragged me into a deserted German machine-gun nest after I had been wounded on the field, manned a machine gun and held the Boches off until she could flash Morse signals to our lines that night. We were, at that time, being fired upon by both armies. A braver woman does not live.”
“Suppose we speak of the beauties of the Old Apache Trail,” suggested Grace, which brought a hearty laugh from all, and relieved the tension under which she was suffering.
“When I heard that Grace Harlowe Gray and her friends of the Overton Unit had proved themselves the heroines of the trail, I said, ‘That’s our Grace Harlowe, the doughboys’ Grace Harlowe,’ and I was glad. You must join our party this evening and we will talk war,” he urged.