It was when Katie spoke of her brother that he was swept again into the larger seriousness. Looking into her tender face, his own grew grave. "You know, Katie—what I told you—what I must tell you—"
"Oh yes," said Katie, "there was something, wasn't there?" But she put out her hand as if to show there was nothing that could matter. He took the hand and held it; but he did not grow less grave.
"Katie," he asked, "how much do you really care for the army?"
It startled her, stirring a vague fear in her happy heart.
"Why—I don't know; more than I realize, I presume." She was silent, then asked: "Why?"
He did not reply; his face had become sober.
"You are thinking," she ventured, "that your feeling for it is going to be—hard for me?"
He nodded; he was still holding her hand tightly, as if to make sure of keeping it.
"You see, Katie," he went on, with difficulty, "I have reason for that feeling."
"What do you mean?" she asked sharply.