Marjorie continued to stare at herself in the mirror as if she saw
something there behind her own reflection. "The very first man who was
ever in love with me wore a helmet like this," she said, suddenly,
lifting enigmatic and mischievous eyes to Leonard.

"How many have there been since?" Leonard smiled, lazily.

"I can remember only the first and the last," said Marjorie.

Leonard laughed, but he could not see Marjorie's face. She was standing
looking down at the gold eagle-crest, holding the helmet in both hands,
carefully, timidly, as if it were a loaded weapon that might go off.

"Where did you get it, Len?" she asked, gravely.

"There's a crop of them coming up in France this summer," said Leonard.

"But seriously, Len?"

"Seriously, Marjorie." He took the helmet by the spike and put it on the
mantel. "Lord knows, I'm not presenting that as a token of valor to any
one. It belonged to a poor chap who died on the field the night I was
wounded. My orderly packed it in my kit."

Marjorie drew a deep breath. "Oh, Len," she whispered, staring at the
helmet. "How does it feel to kill a man?"

Leonard, smiling, shifted his position and answered, "No different from
killing your first rabbit, if you don't sit down on the bank and watch
it kick, and write poetry. Besides, you always have the pleasure of
thinking it's a German rabbit."

"Oh, Len!"

"You're just one in a great big machine called England. It isn't your
job to think," Leonard said. "For God's sake, lamb, don't cherish any
fool Yankee pacifist notions. We are going to beat the Germans till
every man Fritz of them is either dead or can't crawl off the field."
His black fingers closed over Marjorie's. "Remember, after to-night
you're an Englishwoman. You can't be a little American mongrel any more;
not until I'm dead, anyway. Now I've got you, I'll never let you go!" He
showed his teeth in a fierce, defiant smile, in which there was pathos.
He knew what a life in the Dardanelles was worth. He put his cropped
head close to Marjorie's. "Do you hate me for that, Marjie?"

Marjorie, pressing against him, felt the strength of his gaunt shoulder
through his coat. A sense of delicious fear stole over her, and the
savage which lies close to the surface in every woman leaped within her.

"I love you for it!" she cried.

"Don't rub your head against my coat," murmured Leonard; "there's bugs
in it."

They both laughed excitedly.

II

Two hours l