He looked
so sure of himself that Beverly hated him to the point of desperation.
At the same time she was eager to learn how matters stood with
Baldos. The count's threat still hung over her head, veiled by its
ridiculous shadow of mercy. She knew him well enough by this time to
feel convinced that Baldos would have to account for his temerity,
sooner or later. It was like the cat and the helpless mouse.
"It's too hot," she protested, when he announced himself ready for the
game. "Nobody plays poker when it's 92 in the shade."
"But, your highness," complained the count, "war may break out any
day. I cannot concede delay."
"I think there's a game called 'shooting craps,'" suggested she
serenely. "It seems to me it would be particularly good for
warriors. You could be shooting something all the time."
He went away in a decidedly irascible frame of mind. She did not know
it, but Baldos was soon afterward set to work in the garrison stables, a
most loathsome occupation, in addition to his duties as a guard by
night.
After mature deliberation Beverly set herself to the task of writing
home to her father. It was her supreme intention to convince him that
she would be off for the States in an amazingly short time. The major,
upon receiving the letter three weeks later, found nothing in it to
warrant the belief that she was ever coming home.
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