“Why did you desert me?” she said. “It was awful. They are calling you now. They are playing 'The Conquering Hero.'”
“Mr. Cahill,” commanded Ranson, “go out there and make a speech.” He turned to Mary Cahill and lifted one of her hands in both of his. “Well, I AM the conquering hero,” he said. “I've won the only thing worth winning, dearest,” he whispered; “we'll run away from them in a minute, and we'll ride to the waterfall and the Lover's Leap.” He looked down at her wistfully. “Do you remember?”
Mary Cahill raised her head and smiled. He leaned toward her breathlessly.
“Why, did it mean that to you, too?” he asked.
She smiled up at him in assent.
“But I didn't say anything, did I?” whispered Ranson. “I hardly knew you then. But I knew that day that I—that I would marry you or nobody else. And did you think—that you—”
“Yes,” Mary Cahill whispered.
He bent his head and touched her hand with his lips.
“Then we'll go back this morning to the waterfall,” he said, “and tell it that it's all come right. And now, we'll bow to those crazy people out there, those make-believe dream-people, who don't know that there is nothing real in this world but just you and me, and that we love each other.”
A dishevelled orderly bearing a tray with two glasses confronted Ranson at the door. “Here's the Scotch and sodas, lieutenant,” he panted. “I couldn't get 'em any sooner. The men wanted to take 'em off me—to drink Miss Cahill's health.”