But this made little difference to Middleton. They strolled outside and found a seat. The moonlight appeared to Middleton more charming than he ever remembered it, and he discovered something which he had never known before. He wanted to please this girl as he never recalled having wanted to please any other, and he was conscious that it was a difficult, if not an impossible task. It was as though he lay in face of a foe, one who appeared at the outset stronger than he. Yet she did not appear to be attempting anything. She was simply in opposition to him, that was all. She appeared so unaffected and simple that, remembering what he had just seen of her coquetry, he wondered if she could be as natural as she seemed to be. Her gaze was so direct, her voice so placid, her manner so self-possessed, that he felt she had the advantage of him. And all the time he wanted to please her.
In the course of their conversation she spoke of her brother.
Middleton had not remembered that she had a brother.
“Where is he?” he asked.
“He was killed.” She spoke very quietly.
“Oh!” he said, softly. “I beg your pardon.”
“He was killed at Jacquelin Gray’s side, and Jacquelin brought his body out under fire—just as Steve afterward tried to bring Jack.” She sighed deeply, and her eyes seemed to say, “You can understand now?”
Middleton had a strange sensation. He had never before looked in the eyes of a woman whose brother had been killed, possibly by his command. He hated Jacquelin, but in a way he was grateful to him too; for it was the first time Miss Cary had softened at all.
“I believe that all your men went in the army,” he said, feeling about for a new subject.