“Awfully jolly, dad. It's perfectly fine of you.”
He turned and saw a grey-haired gentleman, with upright soldierly figure, and walking with him, arm in arm, a young officer, evidently his son. He followed them slowly to the door, and eager to share if he might the joy of their comradeship, he listened to their talk. Then as they disappeared into the darkness, sick at heart, he passed out of the door, stood a moment to get his bearings, and sauntered beyond the radius of the subdued light about the entrance, into the darkness further on.
He had gone but a few paces, and was standing beneath a shaded corner light, meditating the crossing of the roaring street, when he heard behind him an eager voice crying,
“Captain Dunbar! Captain Dunbar!”
Swiftly he turned, and saw in the dim light a dainty figure, opera coat flowing away from gleaming arms and shoulders, a face with its halo of gold brown hair, with soft brown eyes ashine and eager parted lips, a vision of fluttering, bewildering loveliness bearing down upon him with outstretched hands.
“What,” he gasped, “you! Oh, you darling!”
He reached for her, gathered her in his arms, drew her toward him, and before either he or she was aware of what he intended to do, kissed her parting lips.
“Oh, how dare you!” she cried, aghast, pushing him back from her, her face in a red flame. “Oh, I'm so glad. I was afraid I should lose you.”
Barry, appalled at his own temerity, his eyes taking in the sweet beauty of her lovely face, stood silent, trembling.
“Well, aren't you going to tell me you are glad to see me?” she cried, smiling up at him saucily.