y known to love and youth, the foolish things they
said and left unsaid told them whispers of the wonderful things which
were to be. Michael was too exacting in his demands to allow of
sustained conversation; sentences lost themselves in "one more kiss,"
or in one more bewildering meeting of happy eyes.

At last Michael said--not without a feeling of nervousness, for he had
asked few questions, and the scraps of information which Margaret had
volunteered he had so often interrupted by his own impetuous demands,
that she had accepted the fact that all explanations and questioning
must wait until the excitement of their meeting had abated--"Why did
Freddy not answer my letters? Why did you leave Egypt without one
word?"

His voice expressed the fact that his letters had contained the full
explanation of his conduct. It also said, "Why this forgiveness, if
you were so unkind?"

It brought a strange revelation to Margaret of the ravages of war, of
the changes which it had made in their lives. She remained lost in
thought.

"Will Freddy consent? Will he understand, as you do?"

Margaret shivered. Her hand left Michael's; her fingers touched the
band of crepe which she was wearing on her uniform coat-sleeve.

"No, no, Meg!" he cried. "Not Freddy! Anybody but Freddy!" His words
were a cry of horror, of anguish. In the surprise and excitement of
their meeting, he had forgotten to ask for Freddy. Even though he was
in his soldier's uniform, his happiness had obliterated the war. He
had the true soldier's temperament--a fighter while fighting had to be
done, a lover of pleasure in peace-time.

"Yes," she said, "Freddy. He was only in Flanders a few weeks."

Michael put his arms round her tenderly, protectingly. "You poor
little girl, you brave little woman!"

Margaret loved his anguish, his complete understanding of the fact that
of all people it was Freddy who should have been spared.

"If you had only seen him, Mike! He was so young, so fair. And he
never had a chance."

Michael's eyes questioned her words.

"He was just sniped at the very beginning. That was the hardest part
of it--to know that all his talents and intellect had been wasted!"

Michael held her closer. "Not wasted, dearest, don't say that."

"I didn't exactly mean wasted. But he could have done such great
things for the world; he could surely have been given work more worthy
of his abilities!"

"He is doing wonderful things