Could he ever tell her? he wondered.
"Why you haven't got half the tan I expected! You're not chocolate at all!" she said like a grieved child.
He forgot the haunting shadow for a moment and he laughed genuinely.
"I'm sorry I don't please you."
"You don't please me at all," Cary pouted. "You're not chocolate, and you haven't returned a captain, and you're not in uniform with a medal on your breast, and what is worse than everything, you've grown chicken-hearted and turned your back on the Service and run away."
He winced.
"And you're as solemn as a funeral, and you haven't told me you're glad to see me, and—you don't please me at all!"
"That's a nice greeting for a chap!"
"Well—you deserve it!" Cary retorted; then she brightened up, "And you really got hurt? Did it come just 'within a shade of a vital spot,' like it always does in the story books?"
"I got a scratch."