She came a little closer to him.
“Michael, I have to face it, that I may never see Hermann again,” she said. “Mother doesn’t fear it, you know. She—the darling—she lives in a sort of dream. I don’t want her to wake from it. But how can I get accustomed to the thought that perhaps I shan’t see Hermann again? I must get accustomed to it: I’ve got to live with it, and not quarrel with it.”
He took up her hand, enclosing it in his.
“But, one doesn’t quarrel with the big things of life,” he said. “Isn’t it so? We haven’t any quarrel with things like death and duty. Dear me, I’m afraid I’m preaching.”
“Preach, then,” she said.
“Well, it’s just that. We don’t quarrel with them: they manage themselves. Hermann’s going managed itself. It had to be.”
Her voice quivered as she spoke now.
“Are you going?” she asked. “Will that have to be?”
Michael looked at her a moment with infinite tenderness.
“Oh, my dear, of course it will,” he said. “Of course, one doesn’t know yet what the War Office will do about the Army. I suppose it’s possible that they will send troops to France. All that concerns me is that I shall rejoin again if they call up the Reserves.”