ometimes he took his
Belgian stretcher-bearers with him, sometimes, when they didn't like the
look of it, he went by himself. He didn't care, the Colonel said, _where_
he went or how. If it was through rifle-fire or mitrailleuse he went on
his hands and knees--he wriggled on his stomach. If it was shrapnel he
took his chance. He had saved one of his three officers by carrying him
straight out of his own battery, when the German guns had found its
range; and he had driven his car, by himself, across a five-mile-long
field, under a hailstorm of shrapnel, to get the other two.

"You see," the Colonel expounded, "your husband has chosen the most
dangerous of all field ambulance work. Those high-speed scouting cars,
running low on the ground, can go where a big ambulance cannot. It is
magnificent what he has done."

When Jevons came back they could still hardly keep their eyes off him;
they could hardly tear themselves away. It was "_A demain, Monsieur_,"
and "_A demain, Colonel_" as if they had arranged another deadly tryst.

"Well," said Jimmy, "how do you like them?"

"Oh--they're dears," said Viola, "especially the one with the moustache.
Do you know, they've told me everything except what's the matter with
leg."

"My leg?" said Jimmy. "A bit of shell barked it. I'm jolly glad it's my
leg and not my hand."

I was a little frightened when Viola left us alone after dinner. I
thought he would pitch into me for bringing her. But he only said sadly,
"You oughtn't to have brought her, Furny. But I suppose you couldn't stop
her."

I said, No, I couldn't stop her. But I hadn't brought her. She had
brought me.

We sat on till the lounge was open to the guests of the hotel. And when
the war-correspondents began to drop in I saw that Jevons was uneasy.

"D'you mind if I turn in, old man?" he said.

I asked him if his wound was hurting him.

He stooped and caressed it pensively.

"No," he said. "Not a bit. I like my wound. It--it makes me feel manly."

Presently he said good night and left me.

I thought--yes, I certainly thought--that he exaggerated his limp a
little as he crossed the room, and for a moment I wondered, "Is he
playing up to the correspondents?"

Then I saw that Viola stood in the doorway waiting for him and that she
gave him her arm.

And then through the glass screen I saw them going together up the stair.
And I remembered the tale that he had told me nine years ago, how he had
seen her standin