Who knows?—on the analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time. That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals. It moved a trifle, stepping back and lifting an arm to rub the sleeve against the glass. Never mind. The sergeant had not seen it for he understood nothing of what she told him. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees.
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