Major Guthrie slightly lowered his voice: “I had the telegram an hour ago,” he explained. “I thought you knew that I was in the Reserve, that I form part of what is called the Expeditionary Force.”
“The Expeditionary Force?” she repeated in a bewildered tone. “I didn’t know there was such a thing! You never told me about it.”
“Well, you’ve never been interested in such matters.” Major Guthrie smiled at her indulgently, and suddenly she realised that when they were together she generally talked of her own concerns, very, very seldom of his.
But what was this he was now saying? “Besides, it’s by way of being a secret. That’s the real reason I haven’t been out the last few days. I didn’t feel I could leave home for even five minutes. I’ve been on tenterhooks—in fact it will take me two or three days to get fit again. You see, I couldn’t say anything to anybody! And one heard such absurd rumours—rumours that the Government didn’t mean to send any troops to the Continent—that they had been caught napping—that the transport arrangements had broken down, and so on. However, it’s all right now! I report myself to-night; rejoin my old regiment to-morrow; and—well, in three or four days, please God, I shall be in France, and in a week at latest in Belgium.”
Mrs. Otway looked at him silently. She was too much surprised to speak. She felt moved, oppressed, excited. A British Army going to France—to Belgium? It seemed incredible!
And Major Guthrie also felt moved and excited, but he was not oppressed—he was triumphant, overjoyed. “I thought you’d understand,” he said, and there was a little break in his voice. “It’s made me feel a young man again—that’s what it’s done!”
“How does your mother take it?” asked Mrs. Otway slowly.
And then for the first time a troubled look came over his kind, honest face. “I haven’t told my mother,” he answered. “I’ve thought a good deal about it; and I don’t mean to say good-bye to her—I shall simply write her a note saying I’ve had to go up to town on business. She’ll have it when I’m gone. Then, when the news is allowed to be made public, I’ll write and tell her the truth. She felt my going to South Africa so much. You see, the man to whom she was engaged as a girl was killed in the Crimea.”
There was a moment’s silence between them, and then he asked, “And Miss Rose?—I should like to say good-bye to her. Is she at home?”
“No, she’s out in the town, doing some business for me—or rather trying to do it! Have you found any difficulty in getting cheques changed the last few days, Major Guthrie?”