chance came she was permitted to witness heroism that savoured of
the boyhood malady known as "showing off."

The reserved, but considerate Bansemer was her closest friend
and confidant. One evening, as they sat side by side watching the
preparations for supper, she turned suddenly and announced that
she knew he was dying of love for someone. He started and his hand
trembled.

"Tell me about her," she commanded. There was a piquancy, a gay
impelling force in this girl that grief and hardship had not been
strong enough to conquer. Her hours of sadness were spent alone--hours
when she was supposed to sleep, but instead, lay awake and sobbed
without tears.

"Nonsense!" said Graydon. "Why do you think that of me?"

"Because everybody else thinks it," she said; "and because I am a
very wise person. The men are not so charitable as I, senor. They
say that you joined the army because of some woman whom you could
not marry. I agree with them, except that it is she who would not
marry you. Forgive me, if I have hurt you."

Impulsively, she put her hand upon his, her dark eyes full of
pleading. The touch of her hand did not send a thrill through him;
such contact, however, caused the blood to tingle in the quick veins
of the girl. He merely sat and stared into space. After a moment,
she drew her hand away.

"I am sorry," she said.