"Why, I doubt if
anyone remembers that I had anything to do with it. But every one
suspects me of having bewitched Stafford into becoming a
deserter--thanks to Mrs. Carmichael's tongue--and every one feels a
just and holy indignation. I doubt whether they really care a rap
about poor Lois, and indeed I could accuse one or two of a certain
satisfaction; but the matter has given them a new whip with which to
beat us out of Marut."
"But you will not be beaten out of Marut," Travers said, a smile
passing over his fresh face. "You have got a far too firm footing. The
woman who has bagged the finest catch in the Station has nothing more
to fear."
"You mean Captain Stafford?"
"I do."
"Then, if you have no objection, we will leave that subject alone."
"By all means, if you wish it," he agreed, somewhat taken aback. "But,
between friends, you know, one does not need to be so delicate."
Her hands played idly with the handle of her silk parasol.
"It is not a matter of delicacy," she said, "--at least, not
altogether. It would be rather silly to begin with that sort of thing
at my time of life, wouldn't it? But--you don't know for certain that
I shall marry Captain Stafford."
"My dear lady! You have accepted him!" Travers exclaimed.
She looked at him, her clear hazel eyes flashing with momentary fun.
"It is very bad policy to rely upon what a woman says further back
than twenty-four hours," she warned him.
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