"Tell me straight out what _you_ think of us," she shot at Lane, with a purple flash of her eyes. She irritated Lane. Stirred him somehow, yet she seemed wholesome, full of quick response. She was daring, sophisticated, provocative. Therefore Lane retorted in brief, blunt speech what he thought of the majority of the girls present. Bessy Bell did not look insulted. She did not blush. She did not show shame. Her eyes darkened. Her rosy mouth lost something of its soft curves. "Daren Lane, we're not all rotten," she said. "I did not say or imply you _all_ were," he replied. She gazed up at him thoughtfully, earnestly, with an unconscious frank interest, curiosity, and reverence. "You strike me funny," she mused. "I never met a soldier like you." "Bessy, how many soldiers have you met who have come back from France?" "Not many, only Blair and you, and Captain Thesel, though I really didn't meet him. He came up to me at the armory and spoke to me. And to-night he cut in on Roy's dance. Roy was sore." "Three. Well, that's not many," replied Lane. "Not enough to get a line on two million, is it?" "Captain Thesel is just like all the other fellows.... But you're not a bit like them." "Is that a compliment or otherwise?" "I'll say it's a compliment," she replied, with arch eyes on his. "Thank you." "Well, you don't deserve it.... You promised to make a date with me. Why haven't you?" "Why child, I--I don't know what to say," returned Lane, utterly disconcerted. Yet he liked this amazing girl. "I suppose I forgot. But I've been ill, for one reason." "I'm sorry," she said, giving his arm a squeeze. "I heard you were badly hurt. Won't you tell me about your--your hurts?" "Some day, if opportunity affords. I can't here, that's certain." "Opportunity! What do you want? Haven't I handed myself out on a silver platter?" Lane could find no ready retort for this query. He gazed at her, marveling at the apparently measureless distance between her exquisite physical beauty and the spiritual beauty that should have been harmonious with it. Still he felt baffled by this young girl. She seemed to resemble Lorna, yet was different in a way he could not grasp. Lorna had coarsened in fibre. This girl was fine, despite her coarse speech. She did not repel. "Mr. Lane, will you dance with me?" she asked, almost wistfully. She liked him, and was not ashamed of it. But she seemed pondering over what to make of him--how far to go. "Bessy, I dare not exert myself to that extent," he replied, gently. "You forget I am a disabled soldier." "Forget that? Not a chance," she flashed. "But I hoped you might dance with me once--just a little." "No. I might keel over." She shivered and her eyes dilated. "You mean it as a joke. But it's no joke.... I read about your comrade--that poor Red Payson!" ... Then both devil of humor and woman of fire shone in her glance. "Daren, if you _did_ keel over--you'd die in my arms--not on the floor!"