“It’s just some young soldier who has drunk too many toasts.”
He turned back to his paper, but Patty whirled him round again:
“No, no, no! It’s Junior! He’s in uniform! He’s afraid to come in and break my heart!”
RoBards’ own heart seemed to feel the grip of a terrible hand, wringing the blood out of it; but he caught Patty to him and held her fast as if to hold her soul to its treadmill duty. He mumbled:
“You’re not going to make it too hard for him?”
She shook her head; but tears were flung about, glittering. Her frowning brows seemed to squeeze her very brain, to compel it to bravery. Then she ran to the washbasin and bathed her eyes, slapped them with cold water, and rouged and powdered her cheeks, to flirt with despair! She straightened herself like an orderly sergeant a moment, saluted, and said: “Now!”
Then she ran down the stairs, opened the front door, and called:
“Come in here, you big beautiful soldier!”
When Junior shambled up the steps with awkward poltroonery, she clapped her hands and admired:
“My, my, my! how handsome we are! I’ll bet the Johnny Rebs will just climb over one another to get out of your way.”