And soon I began to see that she was winning. For when she began playing Harry had sat down, a little restless again, and fidgeted, as if the music reminded him of good things too much ... and his eyes wandered round the room and took in all the familiar things, like a man saying good-bye—the old chair with the new chintz, and the yellow curtains, and the bookcase his father left him—and the little bookcase where his history books were (he looked a long time at them) ... and the firelight shining on the piano ... and his wife playing and playing.... And when he had looked at her, quickly, he sat up and poked the fire fiercely, and sat back, frowning. He was wondering again. This music was being too much for him. Then she stopped, and looked across at Harry—and smiled.
When she played again it was, I think, a nocturne of Chopin's (God knows which—but it was very peaceful and homesick), and as I watched, I made sure that she had won. For there came over Harry a wonderful repose. He no longer frowned or fidgeted, or raised his eyebrows in the nervous way he had, but lay back in a kind of abandonment of content.... And I said to myself, 'He has decided—he will say "Yes" to Mackenzie.'
Mrs. Harry, perhaps, also perceived it. For after a little she stopped and came over to us. And then I did a fateful thing. There was a copy of The Times lying by my chair, and because of the silence that was on us, I picked it up and looked aimlessly at it.
The first thing I saw was the Casualty List, buried in small type among some vast advertisements of patent foods. I glanced down the list in that casual manner which came to us when we knew that all our best friends were already dead or disposed of. Then my eye caught the name of the regiment and the name of a man I knew. Captain Egerton, V.R. Killed. There was another near it, and another, and many more; the list was thick with them. And the other battalions in the Brigade had many names there—fellows one had relieved in the line, or seen in billets, or talked with in the Cocktail Café at Nœux-les-Mines. There must have been a massacre in the Brigade ... ten officers killed and ten wounded in our lot alone.
I suppose I made that vague murmur of rage and regret which slips out of you when you read these things, for Harry looked up and asked, 'What's that?' I gave him the paper, and he too looked down that list.... Only two of those names were names of the Old Crowd, and many of them were the dull men; but we knew them very well for all that, and we knew they were good men ... Egerton, Gordon, young Matthews, Spenser, Smith, the bombing fellow, Tompkinson—all gone....
So we were silent for a long minute, remembering those men, and Mrs. Harry stared into the fire. I wondered what she was thinking of, and I was sorry for her. For when Harry got up there was a look about him which I had seen before, though not for many months—not since the first days on the Somme....
While I was groping after my coat in the hall, Harry came out of his den with a letter which he asked me to 'drop in the box.' I looked at it without shame; it was addressed to Major Mackenzie, D.S.O., etc.
'And what have you said?' I asked.
'No,' said Harry, with a kind of challenging look.
'Well, I think you're wrong——' I told him, though I knew then that I was too late. Mrs. Harry was beaten now, finally beaten, poor thing....