He looked delighted.
'Thank heaven! Most women treat a wounded man as if he were a sick child or a lunatic. It's the greatest rot. I'm nearly well.'
Edith looked round for his tonic, but stopped herself.
'Are you going now?' he asked.
'No, Aylmer. I thought of stopping a few minutes, if you don't mind.'
'Shall we talk of something else,' said Aylmer satirically, 'to divert my thoughts? Hasn't it been lovely weather lately?'
She smiled and sat down again.
'Would you like to know how soon the war will be over?' he went on.
'Oddly enough, I really don't know!'
'Are you going back when you've recovered?' she asked abruptly.
'Of course I'm going back; and I want to go back with your promise.' Then he looked a little conscience-stricken. 'Dear Edith, I don't want to rush you. Forgive me.'