"If that's the truth, lass," he said with sudden gentleness, "you may set your mind at rest. I promise."
"Thank you, mon cher."
Then they fell silent till the parade-ground came in sight.
This, their first appearance together in public, was something of an ordeal to both; and at the last minute Quita's courage evaporated.
"Eldred . . . stop, please," she said suddenly. "I'm shy of them all; and I don't want to talk to them just now."
"Thank the Lord for that!" he answered so fervently, that they both laughed aloud; and there is nothing like laughter for clearing the air.
"Take me for a drive," she suggested. "Show me your bungalow . . . our bungalow, will you?"
He hesitated. It seemed he was only to exchange one ordeal for another. "It's a ramshackle, comfortless place, Quita," he objected. "Wouldn't it be better to wait till . . till I can have it decently fitted up for you? Or you might like to pick another one."
"But no. I want that one; and I want to see it first just as you lived in it, please."
"Very well. If you wish it."