“Leave out that about”—she caught her breath, and her eyes fixed themselves once more on that little round hole in the breast of his jacket—“about his being killed.”
“But he was killed and so was Johnny Sheldon—I have his uniform, you know.”
“I know he was, but you don’t have to tell your father,” said Caroline, choking up, “you don’t have to telegraph him the news, do you?”
“No, of course not, but——”
“That’s all there is to the letter except the end.”
“Why, that leaves it just the same except the part about——”
“Yes,” said Caroline in despair, “and after all the work we have done.”
“Let’s try it again,” said Wilfred.
“No,” said Caroline, “there is no use. Everything else has got to stay.”
“Well, then we can’t telegraph it. It would cost hundreds of dollars.”