“’T was not once in my thoughts that evening, nor was anything else save you.”
“I can make all sorts of preserves and jellies and pickles, and next winter I’ll send you some to camp.”
“That you shall not,” asserted the aide; “for the day we go into winter quarters sees me back here to dance at your wedding.”
“Hadst better wait till thou art invited, sir?” suggested Janice, saucily.
“What? A revolt on my hands already!” exclaimed the officer.
“T is you are the rebel.”
“Then you are my prisoner,” retorted Jack, catching her in his arms.
“You Whigs are a lawless lot!”
“Toward avowed Tories, ay—and a good serve-out to them.”
“But I gave my word to his Excellency that from henceforth I’d be Whiggish, so you’ve no right to treat me as one.”