"You fail to understand my point," she said, quickly.
"Not I, indeed," he interposed, with a laugh. "It is natural, I suppose, for a woman to have some doubts about a soldier. I know among the pious folk we have rather a bad reputation, and that we are supposed to have as many wives as Brigham Young. But that's a gross libel. I don't pretend that soldiers are saints, and some of them, I grant, change the objects of their affections frequently. But, Madeline, believe me, I have been true to you. True to that last smile and look you gave me in Washington. I come back offering you a complete and whole-hearted devotion. Now, come and let me kiss you, and settle the matter before dinner."
She drew back a step further. "I think we understand each other less now than when we began our talk," she said, in hard, unnatural tones.
"Well, by Jove, Madeline, you do astonish me," he said, in a tone of well-feigned surprise. "You surely don't think I'm insincere—that I'm putting it on, as it were; that I'm pretending what I don't feel? Let me assure you I'm absolutely certain of my regard for you. Even if I were in doubt before I got here—though, to tell you the candid truth, I never have been in any doubt. But even if I were, the sight of your face, the loveliness of your ripened womanhood, if you will allow me to say so, has drawn out my heart to you more strongly than ever."
"I don't think we shall gain anything by pursuing this subject any further just now," she said, quietly. "And we shall have many opportunities for quiet talks later on."
"And you are not going to let me kiss you?"
"Most certainly not," she said, the colour rising in a crimson tide to her cheeks and forehead.
"Then all I can say, it is a cold welcome," he said, using an adjective that need not be written down.
"You do not understand me, Gervase," she said, a pained look coming into her eyes.
"By Jove! I don't," he said, "and what is worse still, you persist in misunderstanding me."