“I presume your mistake was unintentional,” she remarked in an icy voice, “but please in future be more careful of the victims of your mistakes.”
Surely Eugenia had forgotten that she was speaking to an officer in the French army, for her tone was that of a severe elder addressing an erring child. She did not at present know the officer’s rank, age nor condition of life. But one is by no means sure that any possible consideration would have influenced Eugenia in her present mood.
“No, I prefer to find my way home alone,” she continued in answer to her companion’s humble request to accompany her.
So Eugenia walked on with her head very high for the rest of the journey, pretending not to know that the officer and his dog were keeping at a respectful distance in order to afford her a safe escort.
This was scarcely necessary “after the pot was in the fire,” Eugenia thought, recalling an old New England expression. She was no longer frightened now that she could see the light in their own little French farmhouse.
Yet to the surprise and consternation of the three American Red Cross girls, Eugenia burst into tears the moment Barbara had opened the blue front door.
Eugenia sat in an old oak chair in the farmhouse dining room while Barbara swept and dusted.
It was the morning after her experience in the woods and actually she had confessed to a headache and had decided not to go to the field hospital for her daily nursing.
At present the four American girls were on day duty and remained at the hospital from nine in the morning until four in the afternoon, their places being taken by other nurses at that hour. But each girl had one day of rest and by chance this happened to be Barbara’s.
Eugenia had been asleep when Nona and Mildred went away to work and only in the last half hour had crept downstairs. All her life every now and then she had been subject to wretched headaches which left her speechless and exhausted. But so far since coming abroad her three girl companions had not been aware of them.
Now every now and then while Barbara worked she glanced toward Eugenia. It was difficult to recognize the severe and energetic Miss Peabody in this white-faced, quiet girl. For Eugenia had never since the beginning of their acquaintance looked so young. For one thing, she was wearing a beautiful violet cashmere kimono Mildred had presented her during their stay in Paris. She had never worn it until now. At least the gift had not come directly from Mildred or Eugenia would never have accepted it. But Mrs. Thornton had written from New York asking that Mildred’s new friends receive some little gifts from her, and Mildred had chosen four kimonos. They were too pretty for nursing use, so the other girls had been enjoying theirs in the evenings alone at home.