“We’ll be lucky if we don’t leave a couple of hands in it,” said Roy, again trying to be witty and again finding himself the battery for a score of indignant glances.

“If you think that’s funny,” Grace was beginning when Betty, color high, heart still beating suffocatingly from that brief little battle with Allen and her own inclination, interceded in his behalf.

“Oh, do leave him alone,” she cried, patting Roy’s scorned shoulder soothingly.  “I, for one, would forgive him for anything he said or did just now without even being asked.”

Roy gave her a grateful glance and Allen whispered close in her ear.

“You can be kind to every one but the one who loves you, Betty.  Is that it?”

His voice was so low that no one but Betty could hear.  And Betty felt an added rush of color sting her cheeks, and turned her eyes away to hide the confusion, the sudden fright in them.

If they had been alone no one knows what might have happened.  But, even as it was, Allen, watching the flaming color and the downcast eyes, felt his heart leap joyfully and was almost—­almost—­satisfied.

CHAPTER XV

THE FATEFUL DAY

The rain that had been pouring down steadily all night stopped about dawn.  Betty raised herself on one elbow to look out the window and was greeted by a dazzling burst of sunshine, as the glorious disc dispersed the fog and took possession of the world.

“A good omen,” she murmured to herself, rubbing the sleepiness from her eyes.  “Perhaps that’s how the Huns will melt away before our boys!”

“What are you talking to yourself about?” queried Grace, irritably.  “A person has a fine chance to sleep—­”

“Sleep!” cried Betty, indignantly.  “What on earth do you want to sleep for?  Do you know what day this is?”

“Friday,” Grace answered mechanically, then seeing the point of the question, sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes.

“Oh, I—­forgot,” she stammered.  “They’re—­they’re going away, aren’t they?”

“Yes; unless, they’ve changed their minds since last night,” returned Betty dryly.  “Oh, Grace, please don’t look so sleepy.  You—­you annoy me,” she finished hysterically.

“Well, I’m sorry,” said Grace, trying comically to appear dignified.  “But it really isn’t so strange that I should look the way I feel—­”

“Goodness, if I looked the way I feel, I’d be an awful mess,” sighed Amy from the other bed.

“Maybe you do,” chuckled Mollie.  “Shall I get you a mirror?”

“Well, if you’d been awake almost all night,” Amy began, but Mollie cut her short with a bear’s hug.

“Forgive me, Amy,” she said, with unusual humility.  “I do know how awful it is to lie awake nearly all night and just think.

“And I shouldn’t blame any one the least bit,” she finished, “for calling me a mess, because I know I am.  I’m positively afraid to look in the mirror.”