'Why, do you think Maurice cares for her still?'
'I'm sure she cares for him. But he's adamant. He'll never forgive her, never. I wonder—I wonder——'
'What?'
He started to his feet and left the room.
I hadn't a chance of speaking with him the next day, for he left by an early train with his father and mother. They had naturally insisted on his returning to his home with them, and although they asked me to accompany them, I was unable to do so, as I had to report myself to my C.O. on the following day. I had arranged to catch the afternoon train to London, and then motor to the camp in time for duty.
About eleven o'clock I saw Lorna Bolivick leave the house and make her way towards a rosery which had been made some little distance away.
'Lorna,' I said, 'I have to leave directly after lunch; you don't mind my inflicting myself on you, do you?'
She looked at me with a wan smile.
'It's splendid about Maurice St. Mabyn, isn't it?'
'It's wonderful,' she replied, but there was no enthusiasm in her tones.