rps, she said cheerfully that it was either one or the other
but she wasn't quite sure. So do give me some reliable information."

"My husband is in the 10th Wessex Fusiliers, a Territorial battalion,"
she replied coldly.

"I hope some day to have the pleasure of making his acquaintance."

"Stranger things have happened," said Betty. She glanced at the clock
and rose abruptly. "It's time I was getting back to the hospital."

Boyce rose too. "How are you going?" he asked.

"I'm walking."

He advanced a step towards her. "Won't you let me run you round in the
car?"

"I prefer to walk."

Her tone was final. She took affectionate leave of me and went to the
door, which Boyce held open.

"Good-night," she said, without proffering her hand.

He followed her out into the hall.

"Betty," he said in a low voice, "won't you ever forgive me?"

"I have no feelings towards you either of forgiveness or resentment,"
she replied.

They did not mean to be overheard, but my hearing is unusually acute,
and I could not help catching their conversation.

"I know I seem to have behaved badly to you."

"You have behaved worse to others," said Betty. "I don't wonder at your
shrinking from showing your face here." Then, louder, for my benefit.
"Good-night, Major Boyce. I really can walk up to the hospital by
myself."

Evidently she walked away and Boyce after her, for I heard him say:

"You shan't go till you've told me what you mean."

What she replied I don't know. To judge by the slam of the front door
it must have been something defiant. Presently he entered debonair,
with a smile on his lips.

"I'm afraid I've left you in a draught," he said, shutting the door. "I
couldn't resist having a word with her and wishing her happiness and
the rest of it. We were engaged once upon a time."

"I know," said I.

"I hope you don't think I did wrong in releasing her from the
engagement. I don't consider a man has a right to go on active
service--especially on such service as the present war--and keep a girl
bound at home. Still less has he a right to marry her. What happens in
so many cases? A fortnight's married life. The man goes to the front.
Then ping! or whizz-bang! and that's the end of him, and so the girl is
left."

"On the other hand," said I, "you must remember that the girl may hold
very strong opinions and take pings and whizz-bangs very deliberately
into account."

Boyce helped himself to another whisky and s