“I see,” said Fulkerson.
“And I should like some intimation, some assurance, as to which party your own feelings are with in the difference.”
The colonel bent his eyes sharply on Fulkerson; Miss Woodburn let hers fall; Fulkerson felt that he was being tested, and he said, to gain time, “As between Lindau and Dryfoos?” though he knew this was not the point.
“As between Mr. Dryfoos and Mr. March,” said the colonel.
Fulkerson drew a long breath and took his courage in both hands. “There can't be any choice for me in such a case. I'm for March, every time.”
The colonel seized his hand, and Miss Woodburn said, “If there had been any choice fo' you in such a case, I should never have let papa stir a step with you.”
“Why, in regard to that,” said the colonel, with a literal application of the idea, “was it your intention that we should both go?”
“Well, I don't know; I suppose it was.”
“I think it will be better for me to go alone,” said the colonel; and, with a color from his experience in affairs of honor, he added: “In these matters a principal cannot appear without compromising his dignity. I believe I have all the points clearly in mind, and I think I should act more freely in meeting Mr. Dryfoos alone.”
Fulkerson tried to hide the eagerness with which he met these agreeable views. He felt himself exalted in some sort to the level of the colonel's sentiments, though it would not be easy to say whether this was through the desperation bred of having committed himself to March's side, or through the buoyant hope he had that the colonel would succeed in his mission.