“Gee! Let me see.” She got up and came round to peer down closely, to finger the decoration. “French! I never saw one before.... Daren, haven't you an American medal too?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“My dear sister, that's hard to say. Because I didn't deserve it, most likely.”
She leaned back to gaze more thoughtfully at him.
“What did you get this for?”
“It's a long story. Some day I'll tell you.”
“Are you proud of it?”
For answer he only smiled at her.
“It's so long since the war I've forgotten so many things,” she said, wonderingly. Then she smiled sweetly. “Dare, I'm proud of you.”
That was a moment in which his former emotion seemed to stir for her. Evidently she had lost track of something once memorable. She was groping back for childish impressions. It was the only indication of softness he had felt in her. How impossible to believe Lorna was only fifteen! He could form no permanent conception of her. But in that moment he sensed something akin to a sister's sympathy, some vague and indefinable thought in her, too big for her to grasp. He never felt it again. The serious sweet mood vanished.
“Hot dog! I've a brother with the
Thus she talked on while eating her supper. And Lane tried to eat while he watched her. Presently he moved his chair near to the stove. Lorna did not wait upon her mother. It was the mother who did the waiting, as silently she moved from table to stove.
Lorna's waist was cut so low that it showed the swell of her breast. The red color of her cheeks, high up near her temples, was not altogether the rosy line of health and youth. Her eyebrows were only faint, thin, curved lines, oriental in effect. She appeared to be unusually well-developed in body for so young a girl. And the air of sophistication, of experience that seemed a part of her manner completely mystified Lane. If it had not been for the slangy speech, and the false color in her face, he would have been amused at what he might have termed his little sister's posing as a woman of the world. But in the light of these he grew doubtful of his impression. Lastly, he saw that she wore her stockings rolled below her knees and that the edge of her short skirt permitted several inches of her bare legs to be seen. And at that he did not know what to think. He was stunned.
“Daren, you served a while under Captain Thesel in the war,” she said.
“Yes, I guess I did,” replied Lane, with sombre memory resurging.
“Do you know he lives here?”
“I knew him here in Middleville several years before the war.”
“He's danced with me at the Armory. Some swell dancer! He and Dick Swann and Hardy MacLean sometimes drop in at the Armory on Saturday nights. Captain Thesel is chasing Mrs. Clemhorn now. They're always together.... Daren, did he ever have it in for you?”
“He never liked me. We never got along here in Middleville. And naturally in the service when he was a captain and I only a private—we didn't get along any better.”
“Well, I've heard Captain Thesel was to blame for—for what was said about you last summer when he came home.”
“And what was that, Lorna?” queried Lane, curiously puzzled at her, and darkly conscious of the ill omen that had preceded him home.
“You'll not hear it from me,” declared Lorna, spiritedly. “But that
A little frown puckered her smooth brow and there was a gleam in her eye.
“Seems to me I heard some of the kids talking last summer,” she mused, ponderingly. “Vane Thesel was stuck on Mel Iden and Dot Dalrymple both before the war. Dot handed him a lemon. He's still trying to rush Dot, and the gossip is he'd go after Mel even now on the sly, if she'd stand for it.”
“Why on the sly?” inquired Lane. “Before I left home Mel Iden was about the prettiest and most popular girl in Middleville. Her people were poor, and ordinary, perhaps, but she was the equal of any one.”
“Thesel couldn't rush Mel now and get away with it, unless on the q-t,” replied Lorna. “Haven't you heard about Mel?”
“No, you see the fact is, my few correspondents rather neglected to send me news,” said Lane.
The significance of this was lost upon his sister. She giggled. “Hot dog! You've got some kicks coming, I'll say!”
“Is that so,” returned Lane, with irritation. “A few more or less won't matter.... Lorna, do you know Helen Wrapp?”
“That red-headed dame!” burst out Lorna, with heat. “I should smile I do. She's one who doesn't shake a shimmy on tea, believe me.”
Lane was somewhat at a loss to understand his sister's intimation, but as it was vulgarly inimical, and seemed to hold some subtle personal scorn or jealousy, he shrank from questioning her. This talk with his sister was the most unreal happening he had ever experienced. He could not adjust himself to its verity.
“Helen Wrapp is nutty about Dick Swann,” went on Lorna. “She drives down to the office after——”
“Lorna, do you know Helen and I are engaged?” interrupted Lane.
