don't, Charlotte, it's because I like you. You're the pluckiest
little blighter in the world. But I'll tell you what I _shall_ do. Next
time your Mr. Conway's ordered on a job he doesn't fancy I'll go with him
and hold his nose down to it by the scruff of his neck. If he was _my_
man I'd bloody well tell him what I thought of him."

"It doesn't matter what you think of him. You were pretty well gone on
him yourself once."

"When? When?"

"When you wanted to turn Mac out and make him commandant."

"Oh, _then_--I was a jolly fool to be taken in by him. So were you."

She stopped on her way to the door. "I admit he _looks_ everything he
isn't. But that only shows what a beastly humbug the man is."

"No. He isn't a humbug. He really likes going out even if he can't stand
it when he gets there."

"I've no use for that sort of courage."

"It isn't courage. But it isn't humbug."

"I've no use for your fine distinctions either."

She heard Alice Bartrum's voice calling to Trixie as she went out, "It's
jolly decent of her not to go back on him."

The voice went on. "You needn't mind what Trixie says about cold
feet. She's said it about everybody. About Sutton and Mac, and all
our men, and me."

She thought: What's the good of lying when they all know? Still, there
were things they wouldn't know if she kept on lying, things they would
never guess.

"Trixie doesn't know anything about him," she said. "No more do you. You
don't know what he _was_."

"Whatever he _is_, whatever he's done, Charlotte, you mustn't let it hurt
you. It hasn't anything to do with you. We all know what _you_ are."

"Me? I'm not bothering about myself. I tell you it's not what _you_ think
about him, it's what _I_ think."

"Yes," said Alice Bartrum. Then Gwinnie Denning and John Conway came in
and she left them.

John carried himself very straight, and again Charlotte saw about him
that odd look of accomplishment and satisfaction.

"So you got through?" he said.

"Yes. I got through." They kept their eyes from each other as they spoke.

Gwinnie struck in, "Are you all right?"

"Yes, rather.... The little Belgian Army doctor was there. He was
adorable, sticking on, working away with his wounded, in a sort of
heavenly peace, with the Germans just outside."

"How many did you get?"

"Eleven--Thirteen."

"Oh good.... I've the rottenest luck. I'd have given my head to have gone
with you."

"I'm glad you didn't. It wasn't what you'