But do you suppose she'd go?"
"Which?"
"Miss Mellen, of course. It's a question of ages. Young Mahomet is
easier to move than the everlasting hills."
"Meaning your mother? She would thank you." "She will thank me, when
she sees Alice," Carew responded hopefully. "But, honor bright, do
you suppose Miss Mellen would go back with me?"
"I thought she promised."
"Yes, but now," Carew persisted, with the eagerness of a boy. "Right
off, next month."
"There's only one way to tell; ask her," Weldon answered. "If she is
the girl I think she is, she will say yes."
"You do like her; don't you, Weldon?" The eagerness was still in his
tone.
"Intensely," Weldon replied quietly. "I have seen few women I have
liked as well."
"What larks we'll be having, this time next year, talking it all
over together," Carew said, in a sudden, thoughtful burst of
prophecy. "By the time we get home, we shall forget the blood and
the dog-biscuit, and only remember the skittles and beer. If only--"
"What?" Weldon looked up at him without flinching.
Carew did flinch, however.
"Nothing," he said hastily. "One is never quite content, you know."
Weldon drew a deep, slow breath.
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