“Marry you?” repeated Kathryn drearily, then her face brightened into a quick warm smile. “Well, why not?”
“Do you mean it?” Joe was on his feet, his eyes alight.
“Sit down, you foolish boy,” and Joe, a trifle abashed by the waiter’s stare, sank down into his seat.
“What will you have, Kathryn?” he inquired, taking up the menu card.
“Some hot roasted oysters and plenty of pepperine sauce; no, no wine,” as he turned to the wine list. “You know I don’t approve of that, Joe.”
“Just a cocktail,” he pleaded. “It’s bitter cold outside.” But Kathryn shook her head.
“Don’t tempt me, Joe;” she settled back in her seat and looked about the restaurant. At that hour the room was empty and she heaved a sigh of relief; she was not anxious to encounter any friend who might chance to come in. She shivered slightly, half overcome by a tormenting memory. “I will take some coffee,” she added hastily.
Joe finished giving his order, and then turned his attention fully on his companion. She looked extremely pretty and young in her conventional tailored-suit and stylish hat under which her red hair curled tantalizingly. Her good looks and engaging manner had captivated Joe when she attended him at Garfield Hospital the year before, he having preceded his family to Washington, and developed typhoid fever soon after his arrival.
“Why did you telephone that you had to see me, Joe?” asked Kathryn, breaking the silence.
“It’s nearly a week since our last walk together,” he answered moodily. “I began to think you were avoiding me.”