Audrey looked at him pitifully.
“My dear, war takes only the best—the youngest and the fittest. But there's plenty of work for the women and men at home.”
“For the women and crocks?” countered Miles bitterly.
She smiled at him suddenly.
“Yes—for the crocks, too.”
He shook his head.
“No, Audrey, I'm an utterly useless person—a cumberer of the ground.”
“Not in my eyes, Miles,” she answered quietly.
He met her glance, and read, at last, what—as she told him later—he might have read there any time during the last six months, had he chosen to look for it.
“Do you mean that, Audrey?” he asked, suddenly gripping her hands hard. “All of it—all that it implies?”