"I think I had the pleasure of seeing you in church, last Sunday," Algy says, rather diffidently; not having yet quite recovered from the humiliation engendered by his unfortunate remark.
She nods.
"And I you," with a gently reassuring smile.
"Did you, really? did you see me—I mean us?"
"Yes, I saw you," with a delicate inflection of voice, which somehow confines the application of the remark to him. "I made up my mind—one takes ideas into one's head, you know—I made up my mind that you were a soldier; one can mostly tell."
He laughs the flattered, fluttered laugh, that my rough speech was never known to provoke in living man.
"Yes, I am; at least, I am going to be; I join this week."
"Yes?" with a pretty air of attention and interest.
"We—we—found out who you were," he says, laughing again, with a little embarrassment, and edging his chair nearer hers; "we asked Musgrave!"
"Mr. Musgrave!" (with a little tone of alert curiosity)—"oh! you know him?"