"I think I understand," returned Carley. "Then I suppose you're in a

hurry to get home? Of course you have a girl you're just dying to see?"

"No, I'm sorry to say I haven't," he replied, simply. "I was glad I

didn't have to leave a sweetheart behind, when I went to France. But it

wouldn't be so bad to have one to go back to now."

"Don't you worry!" exclaimed Carley. "You can take your choice

presently. You have the open sesame to every real American girl's

heart."

"And what is that?" he asked, with a blush.

"Your service to your country," she said, gravely.

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"Well," he said, with a singular bluntness, "considering I didn't get

any medals or bonuses, I'd like to draw a nice girl."

"You will," replied Carley, and made haste to change the subject. "By

the way, did you meet Glenn Kilbourne in France?"

"Not that I remember," rejoined Burton, as he got up, rising rather

stiffly by aid of his cane. "I must go, Miss Burch. Really I can't thank

you enough. And I'll never forget it."

"Will you write me how you are getting along?" asked Carley, offering

her hand.

"Yes."

Carley moved with him out into the hall and to the door. There was

a question she wanted to ask, but found it strangely difficult of

utterance. At the door Burton fixed a rather penetrating gaze upon her.

"You didn't ask me about Rust," he said.

"No, I--I didn't think of him--until now, in fact," Carley lied.

"Of course then you couldn't have heard about him. I was wondering."

"I have heard nothing."

"It was Rust who told me to come to you," said Burton. "We were talking

one day, and he--well, he thought you were true blue. He said he knew

you'd trust me and lend me money. I couldn't have asked you but for

him."

"True blue! He believed that. I'm glad.... Has he spoken of me to you

since I was last at the hospital?"

"Hardly," replied Burton, with the straight, strange glance on her

again.

Carley met this glance and suddenly a coldness seemed to envelop her.

It did not seem to come from within though her heart stopped beating.

Burton had not changed--the warmth, the gratitude still lingered about

him. But the light of his eyes! Carley had seen it in Glenn's, in

Rust's--a strange, questioning, far-off light, infinitely aloof and

unutterably sad. Then there came a lift of her heart that released

a pang. She whispered with dread, with a tremor, with an instinct of

calamity.




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