with a gesture of boyish shyness. Olivia thought she heard the tell-tale rattle of marbles in the pocket.
"I've—I've been a soldier since I saw you," he said, with a boy's mixture of pride and diffidence.
"So I hear," answered Olivia, with a pretty air of severity, "ran away from school, I believe."
"Yes," said Miles, his diffidence disappearing before his pride. "I was big enough to carry a musket. Though I wasn't but sixteen, I was taller than the captain of my company. Soldiering was fun until—until—." He began to blush furiously, but kept on after a moment. "I didn't mind sleeping in the mud, or anything. A man oughtn't to mind that sort of thing, Olivia—if you'll let me call you Olivia."
"Of course I will," replied Olivia gayly. "Do you think I want to appear any older than I am?" Then she turned to Pembroke and said, "I was sorry not to have seen you the day you came to Isleham. We met last in Paris."
"I hope to see as much of Isleham as we did in the old days," answered Pembroke. His voice was rather remarkable, it was so clear and well modulated.
"I hope," began Miles, stammering a little, "that—that you and the Colonel understood my not—why I didn't come to see you in Paris."
"Not fully," answered Olivia, pleasantly. "You must come over to Isleham and explain it—if you can. Have you seen papa yet?"
