It was an intimate secluded little
spot--and oh, if Sally Berkeley were only there to sit beside him! And
as he thought of this, it came to him whimsically that in all
probability she must be longing for Chev, just as he was for Sally.
Dropping down on the bench beside her, he leaned over, and said with a
friendly, almost brotherly, grin of understanding, "I reckon you're
wishing Captain Sherwood was sitting here, instead of Lieutenant Cary."
The minute the impulsive words were out of his mouth, he knew he had
blundered, been awkward, and inexcusably intimate. She gave a little
choked gasp, and her blue eyes stared up at him, wide and startled. Good
heavens, what a break he had made! No wonder the Sherwoods couldn't
trust him in company! There seemed no apology that he could offer in
words, but at least, he thought, he would show her that he would not
intruded on her secret without being willing to share his with her. With
awkward haste he put his hand into his breast-pocket, and dragged forth
the picture of Sally Berkley he always carried there.
"This is the little girl I'm thinking about," he said, turning very red,
yet boyishly determined to make amends, and also proudly confident of
Sally Berkeley's charms. "I'd like mighty well for you two to know one
another."
She took the picture in silence, and for a long moment stared down at
the soft little face, so fearless, so confident and gay, that smiled
appealingly back at her. Then she did something astonishing,--something
which seemed to him wholly un-English,--and yet he thought it the
sweetest thing he had ever seen.
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