It was with an effort I restrained my words, eager to proclaim my service, yet comprehending instantly that I dare not even trust this plain-spoken girl with the truth. She respected the men, sympathized with the sacrifices of Washington's little army, contrasted all they endured with the profligacy of the English and Hessian troops, and yet remained loyal to the King's cause. Even as I hesitated, she spoke again.
"What is your regiment?"
"The 42nd British Foot."
"You have not yet been in action in America?"
"No, but I have just crossed the Jerseys with despatches."
She shook her head, her cheeks glowing.
"My home was there when the war began," she explained simply. "Now it is hate, pillage, and plunder everywhere. We fled to Philadelphia for our lives, and have almost forgotten we ever had a home. We loyalists are paying a price almost equal to those men with Washington. 'Tis this memory which makes me so bitter toward those who play amid the ruins."
"Yet you have seemed to enter into the gay spirit of the occasion," and my eyes swept over her costume.
"Oh, I am girl enough to enjoy the glitter, even while the woman in me condemns it all. You are a soldier—a fighting soldier, I hope—and still you are here also seeking pleasure."
"True; I yielded to temptation, but for which I should never have come."