Dora made a gesture of despairing protest. “You don't understand!”
“What is it I don't understand?”
“Ramsey! I know why he went—and it's just killing me!”
Fred looked at her gravely. “I don't think you need worry about it,” he said. “There's nothing about his going that you are responsible for.”
She repeated her despairing gesture. “You don't understand. But it's no use. It doesn't help any to try to talk of it, though I thought maybe it would, somehow.” She went a little nearer the dormitory entrance, leaving him where he was, then turned. “I suppose you won't see him?”
“I don't know. Most probably not till we meet-if we should—in France. I don't know where he's stationed; and I'm going with the aviation—if it's ever ready! And he's with the regulars; he'll probably be among the first to go over.”
“I see.” She turned sharply away, calling back over her shoulder in a choked voice. “Thank you. Good-bye!”
But Fred's heart had melted; gazing after her, he saw that her proud young head had lowered now, and that her shoulders were moving convulsively; he ran after her and caught her as she began slowly to ascend the dormitory steps.
“See here,” he cried. “Don't—”
She lifted a wet face. “No, no! He went in bitterness because I told him to, in my own bitterness! I've killed him! Long ago, when he wasn't much more than a child, I heard he'd said that some day he'd 'show' me, and now he's done it!”