"I must."
"Why?"
"Oh—because I must."
"A fool reason."
"We can't pretend to be engaged."
"Why not? I think it would be rather a piquant relationship. It appeals to my debased sense of humour. It would at least have this Stirling advantage over the average engagement. We needn't be a couple of confounded hypocrites the whole time with each other. We have no mutual regard—we could at least reserve our self-respect by being honest; or perhaps the prospect of explaining to the inflammable Major, his Colonel, and the Colonel's lady, the circumstances that necessitated the loving embrace in which they found us to-night appeals to your sense of humour?"
"Don't be a beast," I flashed out.
"You perceive how charmingly natural we are already. I find it refreshing—and I intend to continue to refresh myself. Own honestly that you simply daren't explain. The Colonel is going back to the mess for bridge. When I arrive the entire mess will be in a position to congratulate me. Those officers who have charming wives in billets will carry back the glad tidings of our betrothal."
"You must stop him!" I said. "Oh—please—please—do something! Where are they?" I searched the hill for the three figures.
"They have considerately left us to our lovers' lingering. Your father is swollen with pride to-night."