She didn’t worry much about the latter name, but mine seemed to give a little difficulty, for she repeated it two or three times, finally compromising on ‘Harilek.’ And ‘Harilek’ I remained ever afterwards.
I was just going to turn down the light when she asked—woman-like—in a very anxious voice—
“O Harilek! What about some clothes for to-morrow?”
I admit I hadn’t thought about that matter. How on earth were three wandering bachelors going to fit out a young woman—of remarkably pleasing looks I thought again as I looked at her—from our exiguous male wardrobes?
“We’ll find something for you, all right,” I said, in my most reassuring tones. “But ... we haven’t got any skirts,” I added.
She laughed then—a real laugh—the first I’d heard from her, and thought it a good sign that she was getting back her spirits.
“I didn’t think you would have, Harilek. You’re not the sort of people that would have skirts with you.”
“You seem to understand very quickly just what sort of people we are,” I said, rather nettled as I turned the light half down.
“You are not at all difficult to understand—soldier man—at least not to a woman, though doubtless you think your soldiers can’t read your mind.”
“Time you went to sleep, lady. By the way, you haven’t told me your name yet.”