“Don’t! Let’s forget him.” And then, “Have you suffered much?”
“No. The bally thing burns a bit now and then—but the worst of it is, they won’t let a chap smoke.”
She laughed and he caught her hand closer.
“How did you do it, Doris? How did you?” he questioned.
“I had to, Cyril,” she said. “It wasn’t anything—except knowing where to come down. That bothered me. I guessed at Ypres. The rest was luck.”
“More than luck, old girl. Just courage and intelligence. I felt myself failin’, up there, but I saw you knew your way about and then I—I seemed to go to sleep. Silly of me, wasn’t it?”
“Silly! You fainted, Cyril.”
“Rotten time to faint.”
“You might have died up there. Once I thought you had died. Oh, that dreadful moment! I wanted to go, too—with you. I was a little mad, I think. I wanted to take you in my arms and go with you—down—down. My hands even left the wheel. The Yellow Dove toppled—but I caught her.”