“Are you expecting any one from home?” she asked weakly, laying down her fork.
He answered without looking around.
“I wired for Overton last night—he’s up there.”
She gasped, but the sound was so slight and so soft that he did not hear her. For a moment she was overwhelmed with a rush of feeling. It seemed impossible that he could have sent for Overton on any business that did not involve her, for her thoughts had been filled with Overton. She had struggled against it, but it had been too strong for her.
She kept contrasting the two, and always, in the end, she seemed to vision that moment of terrible cowardice, the flight of a strong man who was leaving an injured comrade to die. Now, as she looked at him, she saw it again, and it overwhelmed her. She clutched at the edge of the table and held herself erect in her place, but her face was ashen.
“What’s the matter?” she managed to ask at last. “I—I thought he’d given over the command long ago.”
“So he has.” Faunce swung around from the window suddenly and looked at her. He saw, at a glance, the struggle in her mind. “This is about something else—something I thought he’d like to do—for your sake.”
The color came back into her face; she blushed up to her hair.
“What do you mean?”
He continued to regard her, his haggard eyes seemed to cling to her face, but there was an expression of bitterness about his lips.