"When's your board, Jim?" The flickering light of the fire lit up the old oak hall, playing on the face of the girl buried in an easy chair. Tea was over, and they were alone.
"On Tuesday, dear," he answered gravely.
"But you aren't fit, old man; you don't think you're fit yet, do you?" There was a note of anxiety in her voice.
"I'm perfectly fit, Sybil," he said quietly—"perfectly fit, my dear."
"Then you'll go back soon?" She looked at him with frightened eyes.
"Just as soon as they'll send me. I am going to ask the Board to pass me fit 'for General Service.'"
"Oh, Jim!"—he hardly caught the whisper. "Oh, Jim! my man."
"Well——" he came over and knelt in front of her.
"It makes me sick," she cried fiercely, "to think of you and Hugh and men like you—and then to think of all these other cowardly beasts. My dear, my dear—do you want to go back?"
"At present, I don't. I'm utterly happy here with you, and the old peaceful country life. I'm afraid, Syb—I'm afraid of going on with it I'm afraid of its sapping my vitality—I'm afraid of never wanting to go back." His voice died away, and then suddenly he leant forward and kissed her on the mouth.