He crossed over to the other side of the deck and stood there with his face turned from them, gazing out at the beautiful, foam-capped billows of old ocean with the golden track of the sunset shining far across the waves. There came to him suddenly the remembrance that he was homeward bound.
He was homeward bound. In a few days, or weeks at most, he should be at home; he should be at Lancaster Park; he should meet the girl his vixenish aunt had chosen for his future bride. He wondered vaguely what she would be like—pretty, he hoped; as pretty as—yes, as pretty as—Leonora West.
Her clear, sweet voice floated across the deck, the words plainly audible.
"You are both soldiers. How pleasant! I do so adore soldiers."
"You make me very happy, Miss West," cried De Vere, sentimentally, with his hand upon his heart.
"But not," continued Leonora, with a careless glance at him, "not in their ordinary clothes, you understand, Lieutenant De Vere. It is the uniform that delights me. I think it is just too lovely for anything."
De Vere, crushed to the earth for a moment, hastily rallied himself.
"I would give the half of my kingdom," he said, "if only I had gone traveling in my red coat."
"I wish you had," she replied. "But some day—after we get to England, I mean—you will let me see you in it, won't you?"
"Every day, if you like. I shall only be too happy," vivaciously.