"Until I've got things straight."
He happened to see her hands, and how they were tightly interlocked as though she were holding herself back. But her voice was quiet enough.
"Will you go on like that always, Major Tristram?"
"Until they push me on to the rubbish heap," he answered lightly.
"It must be very, very lonely."
He plunged his hand into his side-pocket and drew out a big bundle of letters. His blue eyes twinkled.
"You'd better not waste sympathy on me, Miss Boucicault. Look at these. I picked them up at the station—two by every mail. What do you think of that? And all from one woman!"
"A woman?" she echoed, stupidly.
"My old mother." He laughed with a boyish satisfaction. "We're the greatest pals on earth, she and I. A man couldn't be lonely with her in the background. We've got each other to live for."
"But she's in England. How she must miss you!"