The girl was frankly amused by the streak of boyishness in him––the perfectly transparent desire of this young man to detain her in conversation. And, still amused, she leaned back against the rail. If he wanted to talk to her she would let him––even help him. Why not?
“Is that a wound chevron?” she inquired, looking at the sleeve of his tunic.
“No,” he replied gratefully, “it’s a service stripe.”
“And what does the little cord around your shoulder signify?”
“That my regiment was cited.”
“For bravery?”
“Well––that was the idea, I believe.”
“Then you’ve been in action.”
“Yes.”
“Over the top?”