Nor did she betray any of that over-sensitive shrinking from coarseness which the good Pastor had feared, albeit she was quick to correct its exhibition.

The languid men listened to her with half-aggressive, half-amused interest, and some of the satisfaction of taking a bitter but wholesome tonic.
It was not until she reached the bed at the farther end of the ward that she seemed to meet with any check.
It was occupied by a haggard man, with a long white moustache and features that seemed wasted by inward struggle and fever.

At the first sound of her voice he turned quickly towards her, lifted himself on his elbow, and gazed fixedly in her face.
"Kate Howard--by the Eternal!" he said, in a low voice.
Despite her rigid self-possession the woman started, glanced hurriedly around, and drew nearer to him.
"Pendleton!" she said, in an equally suppressed voice, "What, in God's name, are you doing here ?" "Dying, I reckon--sooner or later," he said grimly, "that's what they do here." "But--what," she went on hurriedly, still glancing over her shoulder as if she suspected some trick--"what has brought you to this ?" "YOU!" said the colonel, dropping back exhaustedly on his pillow.

"You and your daughter." "I don't understand you," she said quickly, yet regarding him with stern rigidity.

"You know perfectly well I have NO daughter.