He was
merely a common-place, negative young man; patriotic, keen in his work,
an excellent soldier, and, as far as I knew, of blameless life; but
having met him two or three times in general company, I had found him a
dull dog, a terribly dull dog,--the last man in the world for Betty
Fairfax.

And then there was Leonard Boyce. I naturally had him in my head, when
I used the words "at last."

"You don't seem very enthusiastic," said Betty.

"You've taken me by surprise," said I. "I'm not young enough to be
familiar with these sudden jerks."

"You thought it was Major Boyce."

"I did, Betty. True, you've said nothing about it to me for ever so
long, and when I have asked you for news of him your answers have
shewed me that all was not well. But you've never told me, or anyone,
that the engagement was broken off."

Her young face was set sternly as she looked into the fire.

"It's not broken off--in the formal sense. Leonard thought fit to let
it dwindle, and it has dwindled until it has perished of inanition."
She flashed round. "I'm not the sort to ask any man for explanations."

"Boyce went out with the first lot in August," I said. "He has had
seven awful months. Mons and all the rest of it. You must excuse a man
in the circumstances for not being aux petits soins des dames. And he
seems to be doing magnificently--twice mentioned in dispatches."

"I know all that," she said. "I'm not a fool. But the war has nothing
to do with it. It started a month before the war broke out. Don't let
us talk of it."

She threw the end of her cigarette into the fire and lit a fresh one. I
accepted the action as symbolical. I dismissed Boyce, and said:--

"And so you're engaged to Captain Connor?"

"More than that," she laughed. "I'm going to marry him. He's going out
next week. It's idiotic to have an engagement. So I'm going to marry
him the day after to-morrow."

Now here was a piece of news, all flung at my head in a couple of
minutes. The day after to-morrow! I asked for the reason of this
disconcerting suddenness.

"He's going out next week."

"My dear," said I, "I have known you for a very long time--and I
suppose it's because I'm such a very old friend that you've come to
tell me all about it. So I can talk to you frankly. Have you considered
the terrible chances of this war? Heaven knows what may happen. He may
be killed."

"That's why I'm marrying him," she said.

There was a little pause. For the mome