."

* * * * *

That evening she had just gone to her room when somebody knocked at her
door. McClane stood outside, straddling, his way when he had got
something important on hand. He asked if he might come in and speak to
her for a minute.

She sat down on the edge of her bed and he sat on Gwinnie's, elbows
crooked out, hands planted on wide parted knees; he leaned forward,
looking at her, his face innocent and yet astute; his thick,
expressionless eyes clear now and penetrating. He seemed to be fairly
humming with activity left over from the excitement of the day. He was
always either dreamy and withdrawn, or bursting, bursting with energy,
and at odd moments he would drop off suddenly to sleep with his chin
doubled on his breast, recovering from his energy. Perhaps he had just
waked up now to this freshness.

"Look here," he said. "You didn't break down. That man wasn't too
heavy for you."

"He was. He was an awful weight. I couldn't have carried him a yard."

"That won't do, Charlotte. I _saw_ you take him on your back."

She could feel the blood rising up in her face before him. He was hurting
her with shame.

He persisted, merciless. "It was Conway who broke down."

She had tears now.

"Nobody knows," he said gently, "but you and me.... I want to talk to
you about him. He must be got away from the Front. He must be got out
of Belgium."

"You always wanted to get him away."

"Only because I saw he would break down."

"How could you tell?"

"I'm a psychotherapist. It's my business to tell."

But she was still on the defensive.

"You never liked him."

"I neither like nor dislike him. To me Conway is simply a sick man. If I
could cure him--"

"Can't you?"

"Not as you think. I can't turn his cowardice into courage. I might turn
it into something else but not that. That's why I say he ought to go
home. You must tell him."

"I can't. Couldn't Billy tell him?"

"Well, hardly. He's his commandant."

"Can't _you_?"

"Not I. You know what he thinks about me."

"What?"

"That I've got a grudge against him. That I'm jealous of him. You thought
it yourself."

"Did I?"

"You did. Look here, I say--I wanted to take you three into my corps. And
you'd have been sent home after the Berlaere affair if I hadn't spoken
for you. So much for my jealousy."

"I only thought you were jealous of John."

"Why, it was I who got him sent out that first day."

"_Was_ it