Mrs. Ascher clung tightly to her husband’s arm. “Words,” she said, “words, only words. You must not listen to him.”
Ascher felt for her hands again, grasped them and held them pressed close against him. He turned from Gorman to me.
“And you,” he said, “what are you going to do?”
The question took me by surprise. I had no difficult decision to make. My course was in clear daylight. Besides, it did not matter to any one what I did.
“You, yourself,” said Ascher again. “What are you going to do?”
“Oh,” I said, “I’m going back to my regiment. I suppose they’ll take me. Anyhow I shall offer myself.”
“And fight?” said Ascher.
“Well, yes. I suppose I shall fight. This war won’t be over in a week. I’m pretty sure to get my turn. Yes, I shall almost certainly fight.”
“Why?” said Ascher. “What will you fight for?”
It was Gorman who answered the question. He had recovered from his brief outburst, and had become the normal Gorman again.