eyes, if he himself had succeeded to the status of an
honourable man? Would not any decent soldier smite him across the face
instead of grasping him by the hand? I was profoundly worried.

Moreover Betty, level-headed Betty, had called him a devil. Why?

If the second part of Somers's story were true, he had acted like a
devil. There is no other word for it. Now, what concrete diabolical
facts did Betty know? Or had her instinctive feminine insight pierced
through the man's outer charm and merely perceived horns, tail, and
cloven hoof cast like a shadow over his soul?

How was I to know?

She came to dine with me the next evening: a dear way she had of coming
uninvited, and God knows how a lonely cripple valued it. She was in
uniform, being too busy to change, and looked remarkably pretty. She
brought with her a cheery letter from her husband, received that
morning, and read me such bits as the profane might hear, her eyes
brightening as she glanced over the sections that she skipped. Beyond
doubt her marriage had brought her pleasure and pride. The pride she
would have felt to some extent, I think, if she had married a grampus;
for when a woman has a husband at the front she feels that she is
taking her part in the campaign and exposing herself vicariously to
hardship and shrapnel; and in the eyes of the world she gains thereby a
little in stature, a thing dear to every right-minded woman. But
Betty's husband was not a grampus, but a very fine fellow, a mate to be
wholly proud of: and he loved her devotedly and expressed his love
beautifully loverwise, as her tell-tale face informed me. Gratefully
and sturdily she had set herself out to be happy. She was
succeeding.... Lord bless you! Millions of women who have married, not
the wretch they loved, but the other man, have lived happy ever after.
No: I had no fear for Betty now. I could not see that she had any fear
for herself.

After dinner she sat on the floor by my side and smoked cigarettes in
great content. She had done a hard day's work at the hospital; her
husband had done a hard day's work--probably was still doing it--in
Flanders. Both deserved well of their country and their consciences.
She was giving a poor lonely paralytic, who had given his legs years
ago to the aforesaid country, a delightful evening. ... No, I'm quite
sure such a patronising thought never entered my Betty's head. After
all, my upper half is sound, and I can talk sense or nonsense wi