"If there's any place else you want to go, you mustn't feel that you've
got to stay here," Miss Mink had urged some time after dinner. But
Alexis had answered:

"I know only two place. The Camp and the railway depot. I go on last
Sunday to the railway depot. The Chaplain at the Camp advise me I go to
church this morning. Perhaps I make a friend."

"But what do the other soldiers do on Sunday?" Miss Mink asked
desperately.

"They promenade. Always promenade. Except they go to photo-plays, and
dance hall. It is the hard part of war, the waiting part."

Miss Mink agreed with him perfectly as she helped him wait. She had
never spent such a long day in her life. At a quarter past five he rose
to go. A skillful word on her part would have expedited matters, but
Miss Mink was not versed in the social trick of speeding a departing
guest. Fifteen minutes dragged their weary length even after he was on
his feet. Then Miss Mink received a shock from which it took her an even
longer time to recover. Alexis Bowinski, having at last arrived at the
moment of departure, took her hand in his and, bowing awkwardly, raised
it to his lips and kissed it! Then he backed out of the cottage, stalked
into the twilight and was soon lost to sight beyond the hedge.

Miss Mink sank limply on the sofa by the window, and regarded her small
wrinkled hand with stern surprise. It was a hand that had never been
kissed before and it was tingling in the strangest and most
unaccountable manner.