She gave a little shudder. Even in that brilliant warmth of sunshine she was conscious of a sense of chill. "I mean—the killing," she said. "It seems to me one could never forget that. It—it's such a frightful responsibility."
"It's all part of the game," said Noel. "I couldn't kill a man on the sly. But when the chances of being killed oneself are equal—well, I don't see anything in it."
"I see." Olga was silent a moment; then, with a curious eagerness: "And was that what you were thinking of that night when you told Peggy that sometimes it was the only thing to do?" she asked. "Forgive my asking! But I've wondered often what you meant by that."
"Great Scott!" said Noel, with a frown of bewilderment. "What night?
What were we talking about?"
She explained with a touch of embarrassment. "It was the night I arrived. Don't you remember I came upon you hearing her say her prayers?—in fact you were saying them with her. I liked you for doing that," she said simply.
"Thank you," said Noel with equal simplicity. "I remember now. The kiddie said something about it being wicked to kill people, didn't she?"
"Yes. And you said—it was just before I interrupted you—you said that sometimes it was the only thing to do."
Noel nodded. "I remember. Well, can't you imagine that? Don't you agree that when a man is fighting for his country, or in defence of someone, he is justified in slaying his enemies?"
Olga was frowning also, the old, troubled frown of perplexity. "Oh, of course, when you put it like that," she said; then put her hand to her head with a puzzled air. "But that wasn't quite what I meant."
"What did you mean?" said Noel.