"I am sorry you should think so," was Nancy's reply. "But, you see, I did not expect you. Wouldn't it be—that is—isn't it a sort of anti-climax to come down here like this, after the great send-off St. Ia gave you?"
She laughed nervously as she spoke, and, although a faint flush tinged her cheeks, it was easy to see that she was far from well.
"What do I care about climaxes or anti-climaxes?" cried Trevanion. "I came because I couldn't help it. I knew you hadn't gone abroad, and I came just on the chance of seeing you. I caught the early train at Plymouth, and here I am. I must get back to-night."
"I'm afraid I'm no good at tennis or golf just now," said Nancy, "still
I'll——"
"Hang tennis and golf!" interrupted Trevanion. "I didn't come all the way from Plymouth for that. I came because—because—but you know why? I say," he went on hurriedly, "you know Gossett of the Engineers, don't you? He goes to-morrow, and—and he was married yesterday. Both he and—and his wife felt they couldn't wait any longer. I suppose her people tried to dissuade her from getting married at such a time as this; but she wouldn't listen to them. 'I'm going to get married because Jack is going to the front,' was her reply to the croakers. 'I want him to feel that he has a wife waiting at home for him.' 'But suppose he should be killed?' said an old dame. 'Then I'd rather be his widow than his fiancée,' was her reply. Plucky, wasn't it?"
Nancy did not reply.
"Hosts of chaps have done the same thing," went on Trevanion hurriedly. "They had meant to have waited for months, but when the war came on they determined to marry right away."
"Are you thinking of getting married?" Nancy was angry with herself the moment she had spoken, but she was excited beyond measure, and the words escaped her almost unconsciously.
"Would to God I could!" cried Trevanion excitedly. "I'd give—heavens, what wouldn't I give for the chance! I say, Nancy, you know why I've come down, don't you? You—you didn't give me a chance to speak the other day, but now I feel as though I can't be silent any longer. You know how I love you, Nancy—you must know, you must have seen it for months—and—and—perhaps in a way it's cowardly of me to come to you like this, when I'm possibly going to my death. But I couldn't help myself, Nancy. If—if—you could only give me a little hope!"
Nancy did not reply—indeed, for the moment she was unable to speak. The last three weeks had tried her sorely. She had as she had thought decided to link her fate with that of Bob Nancarrow. She had, in spite of herself, confessed her love for him, and had promised to be his wife. Then suddenly the heavens had become black. The great war had broken out, and then when almost every young man she knew had offered himself for his country, the man she loved had proved a coward, and had sought to hide his cowardice behind pious platitudes. She blushed with shame as she thought of it. She hated herself for having loved a man who was unworthy to call himself an Englishman. And yet she had told him that she loved him. She had allowed him to hold her in his arms, while he had rained kisses on her lips. She, the daughter of Admiral Tresize, she, who bore a name which had ever been honoured among people who had fought for their country's safety and honour, had promised herself to a poltroon, a coward! The thought was maddening, and yet she had not been able to drive her love from her heart. In spite of his cowardice she still loved him. Even when she sought to insult him at the recruiting meeting she loved him. She constantly found herself trying to make excuses for him. But the fact remained. He had held back in the time of his country's peril, he had refused to listen when the King had sent out his call! Even when she had given him the white feather, his manhood had not been aroused. He had stood like a sulky school-boy, ashamed of his cowardice, but still a coward.