Helene.

"I want you to go to a sweet, old-fashioned English tea-room,
where I may tell you the rest of the story. There will be no
tango music, no cymbals, no tinkling cocktails, nor, champagne.
Can you pour real tea?"

"I am an English girl. I have been five days without it."

As they were ensconced at the quaint little table, he realized
how wondrously blended in her was that triad of feminine
essential spirits: the eternal mother instinct, the sensuous
strength of the wife-love and the wistful allurement of maiden
tenderness.

"Does my great big boy wish three lumps of sugar, after his hard
tasks?"

"He'll die in the flower of immaturity if he has too many sweets
in one day."

He drew out his memorandum book, opening it to a closely-written
page.

"Before the confections, I must hand in my report to the
commanding officer."

"Advance three paces to the front, and hand over the details,"
and she added another lump of sugar, with a mischievous twinkle
in the blue eyes.