“For whom then?”
“For a brave gentleman who iss marching south with the Prince—a kind friend of mine.”
“You seem to have many of them. For which one is the favour?” I queried, a little bitterly.
She looked at me askance, demure yet whimsical.
“You will can tell when you see him wearing it.”
I fell sulky, at the which mirth bubbled up in her.
“Is he as good a friend as I am, this fine lover of yours?” I asked.
“Every whit.” Mockery of my sullenness danced in her blue eyes.
“And do you—like him as well?” I blurted out, face flaming.
She nodded yes, gaily, without the least sentiment in the world.