“I suppose I ought to apologize,” she said. “But really, you know, it looked rather peculiar to me—” She stopped suddenly, for he was seized with another fit of coughing, which had so shrill a sound that she involuntarily turned to look at him with anxious eyes. “I s’pose it did look queer,” he managed to say at last; “but you know that day when I came in I didn’t care a hang.” He dropped his head wearily against the car, and closed his eyes for just a second, as if the keeping of them open was a great effort. “You’re all in now!” she said sharply. “And you’re shivering! You ought to be in bed this minute.” Her voice held deep concern. “Where is that telegraph-office? We’ll just leave word for them to forward the message if it hasn’t come and then we’ll fly back.” [130]“Oh, I must wait for that message,” he said, straightening up with a hoarse effort and opening his eyes sharply. “It is really imperative.” [130] She stopped the car in front of the telegraph-office. The little operator, scenting a romance, scuttled out of the door with an envelope in her hand and a different look on her face from the one she had worn when she went to her lunch. To tell the truth, she had not had much faith in that soldier nor in the message he had sent “collect.” She hadn’t believed any answer would come, or at least any favorable one. Now she hurried across the pavement to the car, studying Mary Amber’s red tam as she talked, and wondering whether she couldn’t make one like it out of the red lining of an old army cape she had. “Yer message’s come,” she announced affably. “Come just after I[131] got back. An’ I got yer check all made out fer yah. You sign here. See? Got anybody to ’dentify yah? ’Tain’t necessary, see? I c’n waive identification.” [131] “I can identify him,” spoke up Mary Amber with cool dignity; and the soldier looked at her wonderingly. That was a very different tone from the one she had used when she came after him. After all, what did Mary Amber know about him? He looked at the check half wonderingly as if it were not real. His head felt very queer. The words of the message seemed all jumbled. He crumpled it in his hand. “Ain’t yah going to send an answer?” put in the little operator aggrievedly, hugging the thin muslin sleeves of her little soiled shirt-waist to keep from
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