“And is there anything we Army officers can do for you, Mr. Arnold?” she inquired.
There was a hint in her voice that, whatever it was, they would have done it more willingly if she had not been obliged to ask.
“I am afraid,” he said, “my mission is not quite so simple. I could wish it were. It is so easy to show our poor needs to one another; and I should have confidence—” He paused, amazed at the duplicity that grinned at him in his words. At what point more remote within the poles was he likely to show himself with a personal request?
“I have nothing to ask for myself,” he went on, with concentration almost harsh. “I am here to see if you will consent to speak with me about a matter which threatens your—your community—about your possible loss of Miss Filbert.”
Mrs. Sand looked blank. “The Captain isn't leavin' us, as far as I know,” she said.
“Oh—is it possible that you are not aware that—that very strong efforts are being made to induce her to do so?”
Mrs. Sand looked about her as if she expected to find an explanation lying somewhere near her chair. Light came to her suddenly, and brought her a conscious smile; it only lacked force to be a giggle. She glanced at her lap as she smiled; her air was deprecating and off-putting, as if she had detected in what Arnold said some suggestion of a gallant nature aimed at herself. Happily, he was not looking.
“You mean Mr. Lindsay!” she exclaimed, twisting her wedding-ring and its coral guard.
“I hope—I beg—that you will not think me meddlesome or impertinent. I have the matter very much at heart. It seems to lie in my path. I must see it. Surely you perceive some way of averting the disaster in it!”
“I'm sure I don't know what you refer to.” Mrs. Sand's tone was prudish and offended. “She hasn't said a word to me—she's a great one for keeping things to herself—but if Mr. Lindsay don't mean marriage with her—”