‘I fear not; I fear I shall be otherwise engaged,’ he replied. ‘Even the pleasure of dancing with you, Miss Flora, must give way to duty.’
For awhile the talk ran harmlessly on the weather, and then branched off towards the war. It seemed to be by no one’s fault; it was in the air, and had to come.
‘Good news from the scene of operations,’ said the Major.
‘Good news while it lasts,’ I said. ‘But will Miss Gilchrist tell us her private thought upon the war? In her admiration for the victors, does not there mingle some pity for the vanquished?’
‘Indeed, sir,’ she said, with animation, ‘only too much of it! War is a subject that I do not think should be talked of to a girl. I am, I have to be—what do you call it?—a non-combatant? And to remind me of what others have to do and suffer: no, it is not fair!’
‘Miss Gilchrist has the tender female heart,’ said Chevenix.
‘Do not be too sure of that!’ she cried. ‘I would love to be allowed to fight myself!’
‘On which side?’ I asked.
‘Can you ask?’ she exclaimed. ‘I am a Scottish girl!’
‘She is a Scottish girl!’ repeated the Major, looking at me. ‘And no one grudges you her pity!’