"No, sir."
Ann's face grew watchful, fearing one of the outbreaks which left him weak and querulous.
"Well," said the colonel, "read us John's letter. There is as much fuss about it as if it were a love-letter."
There is no way as yet discovered to victoriously suppress a blush, but time—a little fraction of time—is helpful, and there are ways of hiding what cannot be conquered. The letter fell on the floor, and being recovered was opened and read with a certain something in the voice which caused Ann critically to use her eyes.
"DEAR LEILA: I am just now with the Second Corps, but where you will know in a week; now I must not say.—"
"What's the date?" asked Penhallow.
"There is none."
"Look at the envelope."
"I tore it up, sir."
"Never throw away an envelope until you have read the letter." Ann looked pleased—that was James Penhallow, his old self. Leila read on.