“They must have one drawback to keep them mortal,” he countered, with a brave attempt at his earlier tone of gallantry. “But,” she went on impersonally, “why a fine, upstanding man like you should go to war under a silly name like Dadd, when he’s got such a fine name as Brinton, certainly does make me curious. Not,” she added, in polite haste, “not that it’s any of my business--as maybe you were going to say.” “I was going to say,” he contradicted, “that any of my affairs are also your affairs. As far as you honor me, ma’am, by making them so.” “You say pretty things,” she laughed in pleased embarrassment. “I wonder if a woman ever gets too old to love to hear them. Pretty speeches wasn’t Ehud’s way. But he always liked to hear other menfolk make them to me. It flattered his judgment, he used to say.” “I fancy his judgment used to get flattered tolerably often,” ventured Dad. But she did not hear. Her brows were puckered, and she was murmuring his name in perplexity. “Brinton,” she mused. “Brinton. It’s queer how natural that name seems to me. Because it isn’t such a common name either. Wait a second and I can tell you where I heard it. My brain’s all full of little scraps of things I’ve heard and tucked away there. I’m rummaging there now, like fury. Presently I’ll find it. Oh, I know!” she broke off. Then she stopped, ashamed. “You remember?” he asked miserably. “No,” she denied. “That is, I can’t remember but one man of that name. Ehud told me about him. Long ago. And it made an impression on me at the time.” “Tell me about him,” urged Dad. “Oh, ’tisn’t a nice story. Besides there’s just a bare chance that maybe he was some kin of yours--the name being so uncommon--and I’d hate to hurt your feelings.” “Go ahead!” he begged, in the same perverse spirit that had prompted him, since his turn of the conversation, to pursue it toward the bitter end. “There are many Brintons. I--I believe a man named Brinton was down in Mexico during the war there. Perhaps that’s where Captain Sessions heard the name?” “That was the place and that was the man,” she said. “Ehud was in General Scott’s army, you know. A captain of infantry. His regiment was on duty one day at a celebration--for some victory or other--and up rides this Brinton man disgustingly drunk and spoils the whole celebration. “He insulted General Scott something terrible, Ehud said. Then he fell off his horse asleep, and they lugged him to the guard-house; and that’s the last Ehud was ever able to find out about him. They never courtmartialed the man or anything. Ehud said he guessed Brinton escaped in the night; the wicked old sot! What’s the matter, sir? Is the wound hurting you so bad?” “Yes!” panted Dad. “But not the silly scratch on my arm. It is a thousand times deeper.” “And you never told me!” she cried in genuine alarm. “Here I’ve been chatting so selfishly with you and never doing a thing to help you! Wait till I fetch you some brandy.”