“I should think in the first place it would depend a good deal on the
man--and the girl. What are they like?”
“He’s a soldier,” said Carrie, looking timidly down at her manuscript.
“That is, he has not seen any active service, but he’s simply thirsting
to do some brave deed that shall show her how he loves her.”
“Yes,” I said, much interested. “A carpet knight; how old?”
“He’s about four-and-twenty, I believe; and he’s not a carpet knight.
He’s very good, and clever, and noble. He’s supposed to be dining at his
married sister’s, and has to entertain the men with brilliant talk.”
If I didn’t know that noble young soldier, I would never look on
daylight again!
“Black hair?” I said.
“Yes,” replied Carrie promptly. “That is--I don’t know. I haven’t
decided yet.”
I leaned back in my chair to recover from the shock. This, then, was
what made her so loving to her brother. This was the “nice evening” we
were to have. She had a secret which pricked her conscience. She was
going to be nice to me for the time remaining. I might have known she
didn’t visit Mrs. Loring Chatterton for nothing. A soldier to run off
with my housekeeper! She had recast the play with a vengeance; I was to
play the good brother’s part.