“Thank thee,” I said, lifting my hat. “I like open enemies best.”
“Oh, I will say a good word for you, when it comes to that, and you will need it. Sir Guy will have Ticonderoga soon, and Mr. Howe New York; so that, with my loyal cousins and the king in possession, we shall at least be in civilised society.”
“There is a well-worn proverb,” said I, “about counting chickens. Where shalt thou be in New York?”
“Cousin De Lancey has asked us to stay with them. When the king’s troops return to your rebel town we shall come back, I suppose.”
“I am sorry,” I said. “All my friends are flitting like swallows. Poor Mr. Franks is to go, it seems, and the gay Miss Rebecca; but she likes the redcoats best, and another is of the same mind, I fear.”
“I am not over-grieved to go myself,” said Darthea, “and we will not quarrel just now about the redcoats. Have you seen Mr. Warder to-day?”
“I have not.”
“Then I am the bearer of ill news. He is to join your new general in a week or two. He could not find you this morning. I think he was relieved to know I should tell you. How much he cares for you! It is not like a man friendship. It is like the way we weak girls care for one another. How can he be such a brave gentleman as he seems—as he must be? I should have thought it would be you who would have gone first. Why do you not go? Here is Miss Wynne’s pet girl-boy away to fight, and you—why do not you go?”
I was puzzled, as well I might be. “Dost thou want me to go!”
A quick light came into those brown eyes, and a little flush to the cheeks as she said,—oh, so very quickly,—“I want all my friends to do what seems to them right.”