"Letty—Letty!" he said in astonishment, "what on earth has happened?"
She looked up, lips quivering, striving to meet his gaze through her tears.
"Dr. Benton is here. . . . He—he has asked me to—marry him."
Berkley lay silent, watching her intently.
"Oh, I know—I know," she sobbed. "I can't, can I? I should have to tell him—and he would never speak to me again—never write to me—never be what he has been all these months!—I know I cannot marry him. I came to tell you—to ask—but it's no use—no use. I knew what you would say——"
"Letty! Wait a moment——"
She rose, controlling herself with a desperate effort.
"Forgive me, Mr. Berkley; I didn't mean to break down; but I'm so tired—and—I wanted you—I needed to hear you tell me what was right. . . . But I knew already. Even if I were—were treacherous enough to marry him—I know he would find me out. . . . I can't get away from it—I can't seem to get away. Yesterday, in camp, the 20th Cavalry halted—and there was John Casson!—And I nearly dropped dead beside Dr. Benton—oh the punishment for what I did!—the awful punishment!—and Casson stared at me and said: 'My Lord, Letty! is that you?'"
She buried her burning cheeks in her hands.
"I did not lie to him. I offered him my hand; and perhaps he saw the agony in my face, for he didn't say anything about the Canterbury, but he took off his forage cap and was pleasant and kind. And he and Dr. Benton spoke to each other until the bugles sounded for the regiment to mount."