ept you with me." Her voice
quavered with emotion and her lovely eyes drooped.

"It would have made no difference." Captain Dalton condescended to
explain Elsie Meek's condition and the fatal consequence of the sudden
exertion she had taken in her delirium and high fever. "She needed very
close watching. Unfortunately that was not given."

"Then it was the nurse's fault?"

"It was an accident. They could not afford a second nurse and Mrs. Meek
was physically unfit to do her share."

"I shall tell Honor."

"Please do not do so. I prefer to let the matter stand. It will be quite
for the best," and with that he was gone.

However, Joyce took the first opportunity of repeating the conversation
to her friend. "So you see, dear," she concluded as they talked together
at the Club the following afternoon, "he was not at all to blame."

"Perhaps not, but it makes no difference. I am deeply disappointed in
him. It was his duty to have gone, and a man who is capable of
neglecting a duty for pleasure falls short of the standard I cherish,"
returned Honor coldly.

"I did not know you could be so hard!" said Joyce reproachfully.

"I am not hard. It is absolutely nothing to me and Captain Dalton cares
very little what I think."

Joyce wondered if that were so, for she remembered his abstraction; his
mention of Honor had been a bolt from the blue.

"I do not understand why he said 'it would be quite for the best,'"
Joyce speculated.

"It proves how little he cares one way or another!" Honor answered,
wounded but proud. "And I have had a lesson never to mistake a goose for
a swan again."

"But he was good to you!"

"And for that I immediately dressed him up in every virtue; I was just a
fool--like any schoolgirl! Please don't let us talk of Captain Dalton
any more. He does not interest me at all."

She knew it was untrue to say that, but it was too late to recall her
words as she turned and faced Captain Dalton, himself, who had come up
from behind them and must have heard her concluding remarks. He was
apparently searching for the Collector who had returned reluctantly to
camp and, as Honor passed on with a bow, which he acknowledged
distantly, he and Joyce moved away together.

"I wish you would chase Honor and bring her to reason," said Joyce
childishly.

"I would much prefer to stay with you, if I may?" said he impressively.
"Besides, why should I?"

"Because," said Joyce with childish impulsiveness, "Honor B