There was no sense in creating further difficulties for herself by arguing with the sergeant over her identity. On the bench was set a quartern measure of gin, a crust of bread, and a slice of cheese. “Thank you. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. No, I don't, either; because——" "Well, Winny?" "I don't know what I was going to say," she added, in some confusion; "only I'm sorry you were born a gentleman. "I had one," answered his sister, in a mournful voice; "and, perhaps, I have one still.
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