"You will be very lonely then; what will you do?"
"Work harder; do more good, and so cheat myself into forgetfulness that time is flying."
"You are bitter to-night."
"Why shouldn't I be when you are going away? It wouldn't be decent of me to be gay."
"Your methods of flattery are always effective. At one moment you discuss the weightiest matters with me—which argues I have brains—and then you grow gloomy over my going and would seem to mean that I am charming, which I don't think is quite true."
"If I weren't a poor devil of an army officer I'd convince you of my sincerity by asking you not to go away at all."
"That would be convincing," she said, laughingly. "Please don't do it!"
His tone became suddenly serious. "You are right, I can't ask you to share a life like mine. It is too uncertain. I may be ordered back to my regiment next winter, and then nothing remains but garrison duty. I think I will then resign. But I am unfitted for business, or for any money-getting, and so I've decided that as an honorable man I must not imperil the happiness of a woman. I claim to be a person of taste, and the girl I admired would have other chances in life. I can't afford to say to her, 'Give up all your comfort and security and come with me to the frontier.' She would be foolish to listen—no woman of the stamp I have in mind could do it." They were nearing "the parsonage" gate, and he ended in a low voice: "Don't you think I am right?"
"The theory is that nothing really counts in a woman's life but love," she replied, enigmatically.
"Yes, but theory aside—"