Philippa, looking after him, was unconsciously stirred to express her thoughts aloud:
"There must be something I can do," she said.
"You have been among the very first to do something," rejoined Warner.
"Oh, that? That was nothing." She pursed up her lips and stared absently at the troops across the Récollette. "I can knit socks, of course.... I don't know what else to do.... If anybody wants me I am here."
"I want you, Philippa," said Warner.
"Mon ami, Warner——" She gave him a swift, adorable smile and laid her hand lightly on his arm for an instant.
Such candid gratitude for friendship he had never read in any eyes before; the quick response of this friendless girl touched him sharply.
"Of course I want you," he repeated. "Never forget, Philippa, that where I am you are welcome—not tolerated—wanted!"
She continued to knit, looking down steadily. Halkett lowered his field glasses and glanced at her, then with an odd look at Warner leveled the glasses again and resumed his study of the distant column.
After a few minutes' silence the girl raised her eyes, and Warner caught the glint of unshed tears in them.