“Then—it's because you're not soldiering?”
“Exactly. I've not volunteered.”
“Well”—composedly—“why don't you?”
Trent laughed shortly.
“That's my affair.”
“With your physique you could wangle the age limit,” pursued Miles imperturbably.
“I should have to 'wangle' a good deal more than that,”—harshly. “Have you forgotten that I was chucked from the Army?”
“There's such a thing as enlisting under another name.”
“There is—and then of running up against one of the old crowd and being recognized! It isn't so easy to lose your identity. I've had my lesson on that.”
Miles looked away quickly. The hard, implacable stare of the other man's eyes, with the blazing defiance, hurt him. It spoke too poignantly of a bitterness that had eaten into the heart. But he had put his hand to the plough, and he refused to turn back.