"Oh, no!" a slight catch in her voice, "but I am running such a risk venturing here. I—I had to pretend a sick-headache to get away. You must not condemn me until you hear why I came."
"I condemn? Hardly, Miss McDonald. I am merely a soldier receiving orders; 'mine not to question why.' Here is the window; now sit down on this bench. I 'll keep guard, and listen." His voice sank lower, a little touch of tenderness in it impossible to disguise. "Are you in trouble? Is it something I can aid you to overcome?"
She did not answer at once but rested her chin in one hand, and turned her eyes away. Her breath came swiftly, as though she had not yet recovered from fright, and her face in the dim light looked white and drawn.
"Yes, you can," she began slowly, "I am sure you can. I—I came to you because there was no one else in whom I felt the same confidence. I know that sounds strange, but I cannot explain—only it seems natural to trust some people even when you do not know them very well. I do not suppose I know you very well; just those few hours we were together, but—somehow I think you are true."
"I certainly hope so," he put in earnestly. "I couldn't very well help being—with you."
"I believe that," and she lifted her eyes to his face.
"Yet I do not wish you to think me bold, or—or indiscreet. You do not think so, do you?"
"That idea has never once occurred to me, Miss McDonald. I am only too glad to be of service."
"It is good of you to say that; you see, there was no one else."
"Your father?" he suggested.