She hesitated. "It's something that a tactful person wouldn't tell. If I
do, it's only because I want you to consider me as--your friend. I know
you haven't hitherto," she hurried on, as he flushed and tried to speak.
"I haven't deserved it. But after what's happened--and after all you've
done for us--"

"I could consider you my friend without asking Colonel Ashley to think
of me as his."

"Hardly--if I marry him; and besides--when you know him--You see," she
began again, "what I have in mind depends upon your knowing him--rather
well."

"Then, Miss Guion," he laughed, "you can drop it. I've sized him up with
a look. I've seen others like him--at Gibraltar and Malta and Aden and
Hongkong and Cairo, and wherever their old flag floats. They're a fine
lot. He's all right for you--all right in his place. Only, the place
isn't--mine."

"Still," she persisted, "if I marry him you'd be sometimes in England;
and you'd come to visit us, wouldn't you?"

"Come and--what?" His astonishment made him speak slowly.

She took a step or two up the stairway, leaning on the banister in a way
to prevent his advancing. She was now looking down at him, instead of
looking up.

"Isn't it true--?" she said, with hesitation--"at least I've rather
guessed it--and I've gathered it from things Drusilla has said about