She barely noticed him when they met, and he, wary for once and wise, made no advances to her.
But hope was quickening in his heart, for September was on them now, and the leave-season was drawing to an end.
One afternoon Céleste flitted past him like a wagtail.
"Cheer, Ernie-boy," she mocked. "He's going away."
"Who is?"
"Captain, my Captain."
"When?"
"At once." She halted. "But—he's taking her away with him."
Ernie turned grey.
"Who told you?"