Patriotism or no patriotism, every one appeared to be laughing save the much-tried sergeant and the stately Curtiss on his white horse. Jasper caught Rose Benham's eyes. She beckoned him to come to her.
"You wicked lad, how dare you be so rash——!"
"Well, I was sick of Rush Heath."
She challenged him with her shallow eyes.
"Now—I know why you came."
"Do you?"
"Yes; but I shall not confess. Me—oh, no. Wouldn't you like to let one of the men hold your horse, and come and rest in the carriage. You won't have to drill the boobies. Look at Jeremy Curtiss. All he has to do is to look grand. Poor old cock-a-doodle-do, there, with the lame foot, does everything."
Jasper was posed. He had no desire to place himself conspicuously beside Cousin Rose.
"I can see better here. I want to see how the men handle their muskets."
"Oh you wicked deceiver. You want all the women to say: 'There's Jasper Benham with his broken arm. Doesn't he look handsome?' I caught Kitty Lavender—you know, the pretty, dark one—simply languishing at you just now."