“What do you think of it, Miss Dauntless?” he asked, his eyes wandering to one of the group of young women who surrounded his wife.
“Fine!” cried the girl addressed. “Such a sight makes one proud to think that he or she is an American. Oh, I wish I were a man! I’d be a soldier, sure thing.”
“My dear Dell!” breathed Mrs. Colonel, horrified. “What are you saying?”
“Tut, tut!” said the colonel. “Why shouldn’t she wish to be a soldier? I’m a soldier, and I take it as an honor that such a pretty American girl should envy me.”
“You know what I mean, colonel,” cried Mrs. Colonel. “Such a pretty girl as Dell Dauntless ought to be content with her sex.”
“Gad, yes!” exclaimed the colonel. “Dell can do more havoc with those blue eyes of hers than a whole squadron with sabers.”
“Now it’s my turn to say ‘tut, tut!’” flashed Dell Dauntless, with a dazzling smile. “I’m the sort of girl that clamors for action, colonel.”
She looked off through the clear evening to where some of the officers and some of the post young ladies were thumping a ball over a net with rackets.
“For instance”—and she waved her hand toward the tennis-court—“I couldn’t be hired to play that.”
“Don’t blame you,” chuckled the colonel; “I couldn’t be hired to play it myself.”