Sometimes when she talked her eyes were like green flames.

But she talked of nothing long and the flames would die and her little waiting smile come entreating consideration for her infirmities.
"Now you be sure to come straight to me directly you're wounded," she again cautioned him as they parted.
He shook hands warmly with her.

He liked the girl, but he hoped there would be other nurses at hand if this thing occurred; that is, if it proved to be anything serious.
"Anyway, I hope I'll see you," he said.

"I guess home faces will be scarce over there." She looked him over approvingly.
"Be a good soldier," she said.
Again they shook hands.

Then she fluttered off under the gloomy charge of Merle, who had remained austerely aloof from the night's gayety.
Wilbur had had but a few words with him, for Patricia claimed his time.
"You seem a lot older than I do now," he said, and Merle, brushing back the errant lock, had replied: "Poor chap, you're a victim of the mob reaction.