Chip was surprised at the ease with which he could talk about himself. He felt half apologetic and looked at Judy as if to say, "Forgive me, but it must be some spell that you have cast upon me. . . ." A look passed between them then that was to both of them an unforgettable thing.
Their words had meant nothing, but they were mutually aware of a bond—a thing as fine as gossamer, and as strong as London Bridge. Judy was conscious of a queer little electric thrill that she felt to the very tips of her fingers. Their look had so plainly said:
"You and I. . . . We are going to be something to each other. What will that something be?"
To cover the nakedness of that question that each was aware of in the mind of the other, Judy turned away her head.
"Noel," she said, raising her voice, "Major Crosby and Major Stroud must come to tea at Madame Claire's one day. Can't we decide on an afternoon now?"
"Being one of the unemployed," Noel answered cheerfully, "all afternoons are alike to me. When will they let you up again, Major Crosby?"
"Oh," he said, "in three or four days I expect to be carrying on as usual."
