rue that I didn't think about you. I thought about nothing
else when I wasn't working; I nearly went off my head with thinking.

"And you said I didn't listen to what you told me. That wasn't true. I
was listening like anything."

"Darling--what did I tell you?"

"Oh--about the thing you called your experience, or your adventure, or
something."

"My adventure?"

"That's what you called it. A sort of dream you had in prison. I
couldn't say anything because I was stupid. It was beyond me. It's
beyond me now."

"Never mind my adventure. What does it matter?"

"It matters awfully. Because I could see that it meant something big and
important that I couldn't get the hang of. It used to bother me. I kept
on trying to get it, and not getting it."

"You poor dear! And I've forgotten it. It did feel frightfully big and
important and real at the time. And now it's as if it had happened to
somebody else--to Veronica or somebody--not me."

"It was much more like Veronica. I do understand the rest of that
business. Now, I mean. I own I didn't at the time."

"It's all over, Frank, and forgotten. Swallowed up in the War."

"You're not swallowed up."

"Perhaps I shall be."

"Well, if you are--if I am--all the more reason why I want you to know
that I understand what you were driving at. It was this way, wasn't it?
You'd got to fight, just as I've got to fight. You couldn't keep out of
it any more than I can keep out of this War."

"You couldn't stay out just for me any more than I can stay out for just
you."

"And in a sort of way I'm in it for you. And in a sort of way you were
in it--in that damnable suffrage business--for me."

"How clever of you," she said, "to see it!"

"I didn't see it then," he said simply, "because there wasn't a war on.
We've both had to pay for my stupidity."

"And mine. And my cowardice. I ought to have trusted you to see, or
risked it. We should have had three--no, two--years."

"Well, anyhow, we've got this evening."

"We haven't. I've got to drive Belgians from nine till past midnight."

"We've got Friday. Suppose they'll give me leave to get married in. I
say--how about to-morrow evening?"

"I can't. Yes, I can. At least, I shall. There's a girl I know who'll
drive for me. They'll have to give me leave to get married in, too."

She thought: "I can't go to Flanders now, unless he's sent out. If he
is, nothing shall stop me but his coming back again."

It seemed to her only f