She stood aside for him to pass, drawing Cæsar out of his way. He
stopped a moment to pat the dog's head. And so standing, leaning upon
his crutches, he suddenly and keenly looked into the olive-tinted face
that the sunbonnet shadowed.

"Sorry for me, eh?" he said, and he uttered a laugh that was short and
very bitter.

She bent down over the dog.

"Yes, I am sorry," she said, almost under her breath.

Bending lower, she picked up something that lay on the ground between
them.

"You dropped this," she said.

He took it from her with a grim hardening of the mouth. It was the
letter he had received from his _fiancée_ a year ago. But his eyes never
left the face of the girl before him.

"I wonder--" he said abruptly, and stopped.

There was a pause. The girl waited, her hand nervously caressing the
Newfoundland's curls. She did not raise her eyes, but the lids fluttered
strangely.

"I wonder," Durant said, and his voice was suddenly kind, "if I might
ask you to do something for me."