When it was over--the weather was warm--he passed a curved
forefinger over his dripping forehead, cut himself short in an
instinctive action and politely dried his hand on the seat of his
trousers. Then his one eye gleamed homage at Betty and he drew
himself up to attention.
"Do you mind, sir, if I send in Ellen with the drinks?"
I nodded. "You'll do very well with a drink yourself, Marigold."
"It's thirsty work and weather, sir."
He made a queer movement of his hand--it would have been idiotic
of him to salute--but he had just been dismissed from military
drill, so his hand went up to the level of his breast and--right
about turn--he marched out of the room. Betty rose from her corner
and threw herself in her usual impetuous way on the ground by my
chair.
"Do you know," she cried, "you two dear old things were too funny
for words."
But as I saw that her eyes were foolishly moist, I was not as
offended as I might have been by her perception of the ludicrous.
When I said that I had plenty to think about besides Randall, I
meant to string off a list. My prolixity over the Volunteer
Training Corps came upon me unawares. I wanted to show you that my
time was fairly well occupied.
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