He was aware that the girl was watching him, and, with the fascination
peculiar to such a situation, he could not forbear a quick glance at
her. Interest and concern showed in the brown eyes, and she smiled
frankly, as she said:
"I very much fear, Mr. Ex-First Sergeant, that your steak constitutes
an order you are unable to execute. Perhaps you will not mind if I
carve it for you."
"Please do not bother about me!" he exclaimed. "The waiter will be
here presently. You are very kind, but--"
"Oh, I'm quite an expert in the gentle art of mothering military men.
I commanded a hot-cake-and-doughnut brigade in France." She reached
across the little table and possessed herself of his plate.
"I'll bet my last copeck you had good discipline, too," he declared
admiringly. He could imagine the number of daring devils from whose
amorous advances even a hot-cake queen was not immune.
"The recipe was absurdly simple: No discipline, no hot-cakes. And
there were always a sufficient number of good fellows around to squelch
anybody who tried to interfere with my efficiency. By the way, I
observed how hungrily you were looking out the window this morning.
Quite a change from Siberia, isn't it?"
"How did you know I'd soldiered in Siberia?"
"You said you'd bet your last copeck."
"You should have served in Intelligence."
"You are blessed with a fair amount of intuition yourself.
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