he burst out impulsively, “I say, what is the matter with me? Why do they find me so hard to put up with? Is it something I do—or don’t they like Americans? Honestly, I wish you’d tell me.”
She stood still at that, looking at him, her blue eyes full of distress and concern.
“Oh, I am so sorry,” she cried. “They would be so sorry to have you think anything like that.”
“But what is it?” he persisted. “Don’t they like Americans?”
“Oh, no, it isn’t that—Oh, quite the contrary!” she returned eagerly.
“Then it’s something about me they don’t like?”
“Oh, no, no! Least of all, that—don’t think that!” she begged.
“But what am I to think then?”
“Don’t think anything just yet,” she pleaded. “Wait a little, and you will understand.”
She was so evidently distressed that he could not press her further; and fearing she might think him unappreciative, he said, “Well, whatever it is, it hasn’t prevented me from having a ripping good time. They’ve seen to that, and just done everything for my pleasure.”
She looked up quickly, and to his relief he saw that for once he had said the right thing.
“You have enjoyed it, then?” she questioned eagerly.
“Most awfully,” he assured her warmly. “I shall always remember what a happy leave they gave me.”
She gave a little sigh of satisfaction, “I am so glad,” she said. “They wanted you to have a good time—that was what we all wanted.”
He looked at her gratefully, thinking how sweet she was in her fair English beauty, and how good to care that he should have enjoyed his leave. How different she was too from Sally Berkeley—why she would have made two of his little girl! And how quiet! Sallie Berkeley, with her quick glancing vivacity, would have been all around her and off again like a humming-bird before she could have uttered two words. And yet he was sure that they would have been friends, just as he and Chev were. Perhaps they all would be, after
