"Marjorie," he asked, "when will you marry me? As soon as the war is over?" He waited, expectant.
Marjorie's answer took the rather puzzling form of a little choking laugh, accompanied by two large tears.
"As soon as that?" she asked.
The young of the male species possesses no intuition.
"Yes," replied Roy earnestly, "just as soon! Or"—with the air of one conceding a point—"pretty soon after." He came closer. "Marjorie—will you?"
This time Marjorie smiled without any tears at all—a purely maternal smile.
"Leave it to me, little man!" she said.
Then she kissed him again, and sent him off to fight for her.
That night Joe Clegg crept downstairs, out of the house, and thence (per two-seater) to the railway junction twelve miles away. Here he caught the early morning train to London, where it was his intention to enlist. He was accompanied by his sister Marjorie, who, after a final and tempestuous debate with her father upon the subject of filial duty and feminine usefulness in war-time, had decided to burn her boats too, and enlist in the gallant sisterhood of those who were Really Trying to Help.
CHAPTER VI