"Lois is my name," she said indifferently.
"No more than that?"
"No more than that."
How it was now going with me I did not clearly understand, but it appeared to be my instinct not to let her slip away into the world without something more friendly said—some truer gratitude expressed—some warmth.
"Lois," I said very gravely, "what we Americans give to our country demands no ignoble reward. Therefore, I offer none of any sort. Yet, because you have been a good comrade to me—and because now we are about to go our different ways into the world before us—I ask of you two things. May I do so?"
After a moment, looking away from me across the meadow:
"Ask," she said.
"Then the first is—will you take my hand in adieu—and let us part as good soldiers part?"
Still gazing absently across the meadow, she extended her hand. I retained it for a moment, then released it. Her arm fell inert by her side, but mine tingled to the shoulder.
"And one more thing," I said, while this strange and curious reluctance to let her go was now steadily invading me.