"Oh, yes, but I can walk in easily, and it will be a comfort to Mrs. Van Citters,—the old lady, I mean,—to be sure they're safe."
Astry leaned back against one of the Doric pillars and deliberately rolled a cigarette. "I can't think of it; you've got to stay. It's too far to walk in those drifts; at least wait until they get the snow-plough going. I'm sorry we're so objectionable, you know."
Charter reddened. "I've been a jolly idiot again," he thought, but what he said was quite simple.
"I don't want to be a bother and I really like a snow-storm."
"It looks as if we must be very inhospitable when a man prefers that—" he waved his hand toward the door—"to a good bed and a fire."
"Oh, you can't understand how a fellow feels who's been soldiering for years. It's like being shut up to get into a house; sometimes I really long for the open. I'm going back there, too."
Astry offered a cigarette and a light, but he was observing the young man narrowly. "I didn't know you were going back. Don't like us over here then?"
"Well, I'd like to get out with a fighting squad just now. I suppose the vagabond life has spoiled me; I'm only a dancing bear here!"
Astry knocked the ashes from the end of his cigarette.
"Ah, I see—it's pretty bad, isn't it? You're hard hit?"