"Robert!" she cried. She saw his look of pain, and wondered at it. She did not know that he, too, had drawn the same comparison between then and now, and had been shocked by the change in the face which so short a time ago had been that of a girl—nay, almost of a child.
"Poor little Nora!" he said under his breath. "Poor little Nora!"
She lifted her hand as though to stop all words of commiseration, and he turned quietly and walked at her side. He understood that he was helpless, that he could do nothing to comfort her in her grief, and yet he felt, too, that she was glad of his presence and silent sympathy.
All at once she herself broke the silence, and her voice, save that it was intensely weary, sounded untroubled and calm.
"I did not know you were here," she said. "I thought you were with your regiment."
"I have my Christmas leave," he answered. "They have no special need of me."
There was a bitterness in his tone and words which she understood. She looked at him, and saw that he was frowning as though at some painful reflection.
"There will be no fighting?" she asked.
"No, none. We have given in. I suppose"—he controlled his voice with an effort—"I suppose we had to."
"Had to?" she echoed.