"It's awfully fine of you," went on Bob, "to come out here like this. I sometimes think that nurses need more courage than the soldiers. I cannot understand how refined, sensitive women like you can bear to see the horrible sights which are so common in places like this; it is just splendid of you—just splendid. You say you have not seen Trevanion?"
Again her cheeks, which had become pale again, crimsoned.
"Oh, yes," she replied, "he has been in this hospital; I—I have helped to nurse him."
"It seems strange that I never heard of it," said Bob; "but there, after all, it's not so strange—there are thousands of men and scores of nurses here; so it is no wonder that I never heard of either of you being here."
"He went back to the front yesterday," said Nancy. "He's quite well and strong again now. He told me that it was you who rescued him from death. Oh, Bob, it was splendid of you! It's all so strange too. Would you mind telling me why you altered your mind and came to the war?"
"I learned that it was my duty," said Bob simply. "No, I haven't altered my mind about war, or about soldiering at all; but I had to come. You see, after I left you, I learned things to which I had been blind before; it is difficult to explain, but I saw that war could only be killed by war. I saw that the Gospel of Peace meant nothing to Germany, and that if she were allowed to go on unmolested, the ghastly creed of war, and the glory of war, would be established for ever; that was why I became a soldier. I wanted to help to cut it out; destroy it, root and branch—and we must never stop until that has been done. But, I'm so glad Captain Trevanion is better, and has been able to go back; he's a brave man; he's a great soldier. You're engaged to him, aren't you?"
The question came out suddenly, and for a moment it staggered her. She was not engaged to him, and yet, in a way, she was bound to him; she had said that which made Trevanion hope. Her promise was as thin as a gossamer thread, yet it seemed to bind, her like a steel chain.
"Forgive my impertinence in asking," said Bob quickly, noting the look on her face. "Of course, I'd no right to ask."
Still she could not speak; she felt as though she would have given worlds to deny all thought of an engagement to Trevanion, but she couldn't—neither could she bring herself to tell him the story; the words she wanted to speak seemed to seal her lips. A long and awkward silence fell between them—a silence that was painful; both had so much to say, and yet neither could say anything.
"Has any one told you I'm engaged to Captain Trevanion?" and her voice was indistinct and hoarse.