Time was nearly up. She had moved to the front now, and was free of men, standing very still, gazing intently....
Roy, following her gaze, saw Lance—actually in the tent—discussing some detail with the Colonel.
"What makes her look at him like that?" he wondered; and it was as if the tip of a red-hot needle touched his heart.
Next moment she saw him, and beckoned him with her eyes. He came, instinctively obedient; and her welcoming glance included the rosebud. "You found it?" she said, very low, mindful of feminine ears. "And—you deserve it, after that marvellous exhibition. You went such a pace. It—frightened me."
It frightened him, a little, the exceeding softness of her look and tone; and she added, more softly still, "My handkerchief, please."
"My handkerchief!" he retorted. "I won it fairly. You've admitted as much."
"But it wasn't meant—for a prize."
"I risked something to win it anyway," said he, "and now——"
The blare of the megaphone—a poor substitute for heralds' trumpets—called the knights of the wire-mask and fencing-stick into the lists.
"Go in and win the rosebud too!" said she, when the shouting ceased. "Keep cool. Don't lose your head—or your feather!"