She irritated Lane. Stirred him somehow, yet she seemed wholesome, full of quick response. She was daring, sophisticated, provocative. Therefore Lane retorted in brief, blunt speech what he thought of the majority of the girls present.
Bessy Bell did not look insulted. She did not blush. She did not show shame. Her eyes darkened. Her rosy mouth lost something of its soft curves.
"Daren Lane, we're not all rotten," she said.
"I did not say or imply you all were," he replied.
She gazed up at him thoughtfully, earnestly, with an unconscious frank interest, curiosity, and reverence.
"You strike me funny," she mused. "I never met a soldier like you."
"Bessy, how many soldiers have you met who have come back from France?"
"Not many, only Blair and you, and Captain Thesel, though I really didn't meet him. He came up to me at the armory and spoke to me. And to-night he cut in on Roy's dance. Roy was sore."
"Three. Well, that's not many," replied Lane. "Not enough to get a line on two million, is it?"
"Captain Thesel is just like all the other fellows.... But you're not a bit like them."