He wanted to shake her and nearly did. "But when you find I do?"
"Ah, when that day comes, I will."
"And meanwhile?"
She just plucked at his sleeve. Nothing could have been more yielding. It was yielding as water, and yielding still, her eyes fell.
"For your sake only. Later—if—if——"
Any great astonishment is dumb and, at the moment, a whirlwind tossed his thoughts. In the swirling gale were sudden pictures; the girl's fair arms, the delight of her lips, his own desire. Tumultuously they passed. Before him flew the hazards of life, of death, and, curling there, the iniquity of leaving her afterward, as leave her he must, alone to face them. The counter-blast steadied him. Astonishment may be dumb, love is clairvoyant.
"For your own sake, no. The war cannot last forever and if I return, then—then——"
Shortly, among the Victorian horrors of his gloomy rooms, she came to see him off.
Mrs. Austen, who heard of everything, heard of that. "I always knew it!" she exclaimed. The dear woman had known nothing of the kind and her perspicacity amazed her.