"That, I suppose, was what they went for," Christina replied, her eyes passing over the letter.
Milly, leaning her elbow on the table, watched and read. "Poor Dick!" she said presently.
Christina had laid down the letter and was going on with her coffee.
"Why poor, dear? It's what he enjoys."
"If he were killed to-morrow I suppose it would hardly affect us more than the death of any of the men who had tea here yesterday."
"Milly!" said Christina. She put down her cup.
"Would it?" Milly insisted. "Would you really mind more?"
"Your husband—my child!" This elder-sister mode of address was often Christina's.
"Why should a husband one hasn't been able to live with count for as much as a friend one is glad to see?"
"Because he has counted for so much."