After all there are thousands of Brigadier-Generals."

"To be accurate, not more than a few hundreds."

"Hundreds or thousands, what does it matter?" she cried impatiently.
"What's Hecuba to me or I to Hecuba?" Few women have the literary sense
of apposite quotation--but no matter. She went on. "What's one
Brigadier-General to me or I to one Brigadier-General? And yet--there it
is. I'm beginning to fear lest this particular Brigadier-General may mean
a lot to me. So I come back to my original question. Am I making an ass of
myself?"

"One can't answer that question, my dear Auriol," said I, "without knowing
how far your fears, feelings and all the rest of it are reciprocated."

"Suppose I think they are?"

"Then all I can say is: 'God bless you my children.' But," I added, after a
pause, "I must warn you that your budding idyll is not passing unnoticed."

She snapped her fingers. "I've lived my private life in public too long to
care a hang for that. I'm only concerned about my own course of action.
Shall I go on, or shall I pull myself up with a jerk?"

"What would you like to do?"

She walked on for a few yards without replying. I glanced at her and saw
that the colour had come into her cheeks, and that her eyes were downcast.
At last she said: