The voice of Angela, glad and ringing, fell upon the father's ears in
sudden joy. Who could associate shame or subterfuge with tones so
charged with merriment? The face of Angela, coming suddenly round the
corner from the side veranda, beamed instantly upon him, sweet,
trusting and welcoming, then slowly shadowed at sight of the set
expression about his mouth, and the rigid, uncompromising, determined
sorrow in the features of her aunt.
Before she could utter a word, the father questioned:
"Angela, my child, have you seen Mr. Blakely this afternoon?"
One moment her big eyes clouded, but unflinchingly they met his gaze.
Then, something in the stern scrutiny of her aunt's regard stirred all
that was mutinous within her; yet there was an irrepressible twitching
about the corners of the rosy mouth, a twinkle about the big brown
eyes that should have given them pause, even as she demurely answered:
"Yes."
"When?" demanded the soldier, his muscular hand clutching ominously at
the wooden rail; his jaw setting squarely. "When--and where?"
But now the merriment with which she had begun changed slowly at sight
of the repressed fury in his rugged Gaelic face. She, too, was
trembling as she answered:
"Just after recall--down at the pool."
For an instant he stood glaring, incredulous.
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