“No, but you may learn.”
“Unfortunately, I am going away.”
“Are you?—When are you coming back?”—A polite little tone coming into her voice.
“Never.” He tried to say it as indifferently as he had said it in practising when he rode up, which he liked better than the tragic “Never!” which he had first proposed to himself; and all the time he was watching her out of the tail of his eye. She said nothing, and he felt a little disappointed.
“We are ordered away—” he began. She was busying herself about something. But he was sure she had heard. “—to the Northwest to keep the Indians down,” he proceeded.
“Oh!” She turned quickly toward him, and their eyes met.
“Well, I hope you’ll be as successful and find your task as pleasant there as you have here.” Her head had gone up, as it did on the veranda the night of the ball.
“I do not appear to have been particularly successful here,” Middleton began, banteringly, then walked over to her side. “Miss Cary, do you think I have really enjoyed my task here?”
“Why—yes,” she began; then she glanced up and found him grave. “I don’t know—I thought——”
“No,” said Middleton, “you did not.”