Michael remembered something.

"Dorothy says you saw Ferdie the night he died."

"So I did. But that's not the same thing. I didn't have to look and
look. I just saw him. I _sort_ of saw Frank that last night--when the
call came--only sort of--but I knew he was going to be killed.

"I didn't see him nearly so distinctly as I saw Nicky-"

"Nicky? You didn't see him--as you saw Ferdie?"

"No, no, no! it was ages ago--in Germany--before he married. I saw him
with Desmond."

"Have you ever seen me?"

"Not yet. That's because you don't want me as they did."

"Don't I! Don't I!"

And she said again: "Not yet."

Nicky had had leave for Christmas. He had come and gone.

Frances and Anthony were depressed; they were beginning to be
frightened.

For Nicky had finished his training. He might be sent out any day.

Nicky had had some moments of depression. Nothing had been heard of the
Moving Fortress. Again, the War Office had given no sign of having
received it. It was hard luck, he said, on Drayton.

And John was depressed after he had gone.

"They'd much better have taken me," he said.

"What's the good of sending the best brains in the Army to get pounded?
There's Drayton. He ought to have been in the Ordnance. He's killed.

"And here's Nicky. Nicky ought to be in the engineers or the gunners or
the Royal Flying Corps; but he's got to stand in the trenches and
be pounded.

"Lot they care about anybody's brains. Drayton could have told Kitchener
that we can't win this war without high-explosive shells. So
could Nicky.

"You bet they've stuck all those plans and models in the sanitary
dust-bin behind the War Office back door. It's enough to make Nicky blow
his brains out."

"Nicky doesn't care, really," Veronica said. "He just leaves things--and
goes on."

That night, after the others had gone to bed, Michael stayed behind with
his father.

"It must look to you," he said, "as if I ought to have gone instead of
Nicky."

"I don't say so, Michael. And I'm sure Nicky wouldn't."

"No, but you both think it. You see, if I went I shouldn't be any good
at it. Not the same good as Nicky. He wants to go and I don't. Can't you
see it's different?"

"Yes," said Anthony, "I see. I've seen it for some time."

And Michael remembered the night in August when his brother came to him
in his room.

* * * * *

Beauty--the Forlorn Hope of God--if he cared for it supremely, why wa