Now that
her furs were off she stood forth in the white costume, the flowing
head-dress, the red cross--all the panoply of the _infirmiere_. She
came half-way down the stairs before perceiving me; then, with a low
exclamation, grasping the balustrade, she stood still.
I didn't even pretend surprise. What was the use of it?
"Good-evening, Miss Falconer," was all I said.
It seemed a long time before she answered. Rigid, uncompromising, she
faced me; and I read storm signals in the deep flush of her cheeks, the
gray flash of her eyes, the stiffness of her white-draped head.
"Oh, Lord!" I groaned to myself in cold compassion, "she means to bluff
it! Can't she see that the game's played out?"
"This is very strange, Mr. Bayne," she was saying idly. "I understood
that you were to drive an ambulance at the Front."
How young, how lovely, how glowing she looked as she stood there in her
snowy dress. I found myself wondering impersonally what had led her to
these devious paths.
"So I am," I responded with accentuated coolness. "My time is valuable;
it was a sacrifice to come to Bleau; but I had no choice.
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