"
"A woman!" she repeated indignantly. "There is no sex in a war like
this."
"You are spoiling your flower," he said quietly. "It is very pretty, and
a native one, too; not an invader, or even transplanted. May I look at
it?"
She hesitated, half recoiling for an instant, and her hand trembled.
Then, suddenly and abruptly she said, with a hysteric little laugh,
"Take it, then," and almost thrust it in his hand.
It certainly was a pretty flower, not unlike a lily in appearance, with
a bell-like cup and long anthers covered with a fine pollen, like red
dust. As he lifted it to his face, to inhale its perfume, she uttered a
slight cry, and snatched it from his hand.
"There!" she said, with the same nervous laugh. "I knew you would; I
ought to have warned you. The pollen comes off so easily, and leaves a
stain. And you've got some on your cheek. Look!" she continued, taking
her handkerchief from her pocket and wiping his cheek; "see there!" The
delicate cambric showed a blood-red streak.
"It grows in a swamp," she continued, in the same excited strain; "we
call it dragon's teeth,--like the kind that was sown in the story, you
know. We children used to find it, and then paint our faces and lips
with it.
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