"He never will. Believe me, I don't like Van Zwieten, and I regret very much that I ever made a friend of him, but I don't think he is a spy."
"I'm sure he is!"
"How can you be sure?"
"Because I hate him," replied Brenda, with true feminine logic. "And if he is going to the front, I'll tell Harold to keep a sharp eye on him."
"It might be quite as well, dear," replied her father, "forewarned is forearmed; and when he learns the truth about you, it is quite possible he might attempt some plot against Harold."
"I'm not afraid. Harold can protect himself even against such a scoundrel as Van Zwieten. Here is Harold, father. How splendid he looks!"
Brenda might well be excused for her enthusiasm. Captain Harold Burton did make a most striking and soldierly figure in his close-fitting khaki uniform. He was trim and natty in his dress, bright and ardent, and full of enthusiasm for the work before him. Brenda would have had him a trifle more subdued since he was about to leave her; but she had no cause to complain when he said good-bye. He felt their parting as much as she did, even though as a man and a soldier he was more able to conceal his emotions.
"Come down to my cabin, Brenda," he said, taking her arm, "I have got ten minutes to spare. We start in half an hour."
"I won't come," Mr. Scarse said, waving his hand. "Take her down, Harold, and get it over."
The two went below amongst the busy throng of stewards who were darting about getting the cabins in order. Into one on the starboard side Captain Burton led his wife. He shared it with a brother officer, who was at that moment on duty. Harold closed the door. The girl was crying bitterly now. He took her in his arms.