"Jennie!" was all he could say.
"You are wounded?" she whispered.
Dick nodded.
"Yep--a shell toppled me over but I was on my feet in a minute
laughing--and I'll bet you couldn't guess what about?"
"No--"
"Laughed because I knew I'd get to see you--"
"I'm so proud of you!" she cried through her tears.
"Are you?" he asked tenderly.
"Of course I am--don't you think I know what those shoulder straps
mean?"
"Well, I just care because you care, Jennie--"
"You're a brave Southern boy fighting for our rights--you care for that,
too."
"Oh yes, of course, but that's not the big thing after all, little
girl--"
He paused and seized her hand.
She blushed and drew it gently away.
"Please--not that now--"
"Why--not now?"
He asked the question in tones so low they were almost a gasp. He felt
his doom in the way she had withdrawn her hand.
"Because--" she hesitated just a moment to strike the blow she knew
would hurt so pitifully and then went on firmly, "I've met my fate,
Dick--and pledged him my heart."
The Captain lifted his shoulders with a little movement of soldierly
pride, held himself firmly, mastered the first rush of despair and then
spoke with assumed indifference:
"Socola?"
Jennie smiled faintly.
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