This to me was rather an astounding thing to say, and if he intended to
disable me in the first skirmish he succeeded admirably, for my only
answer was a laugh; and the more I laughed the more foolish and
slow-witted I felt. I wanted to run to Mary's aid, but I did not know
how, and while I was rummaging my brain for some way to meet him, she
was answering him valiantly.

"Almost, but not quite," she said. "But he has earned the right to
hold the valley's flower entirely--whoever she may he. It's a pity,
Mr. Weston, you have not been doing so, too, instead of loafing around
the valley all summer long."

She did not speak sharply to him, and that angered me. She was smiling
as she spoke, and he did not seem to mind it at all.

"I came to see the veteran," he said, "and not to be scolded."

"You may have my chair then." Mary was rising. "I shall leave you to
the veteran--if he does not object."

She was moving away.

"Then I shall have to go with you," said the stranger calmly, "if the
veteran doesn't object. He knows a woman should not go unattended
around the valley. He'd rather see me doing my duty than having a
sociable pipe with him and hearing about the war. How about it, Hope?"

He did not stop to hear my answer. Had he waited a moment instead of
striding after the girl, with his dog at his heels, he might have seen
my reply.