Willard was coming for her now, half an hour ahead of time, as usual. He crossed the lawn, and sat heavily down on the steps.
"Hello. Don't talk," said Judith.
Willard was silent only long enough to turn this remark over in his mind, and decide that she could not mean it, but that was five minutes, for all his mental processes were slow. Down in the hall the last of the heroes was dying, and Dugan's orchestra rendered Taps sepulchrally. Judith drew a long breath of shivering content.
"Cold?" inquired Willard.
"You're looking great to-night."
"In the dark? In an old polo coat?"
"You always look great."
Judith was aware of an ominous stir beside her, and changed her position.
"Oh, Judy."