She flushed. She had forgotten John in the dread that lay upon her.
"Yes, please tell me about John. Is he coming home soon?"
"When he is able to bear the journey—and I believe a little before. He is sick for a sight of England." Trevelyan let the last words fall slowly. He had thought to add "of you."
After a moment he went on.
"I had a long talk with Mackenzie—the surgeon, you know—before I left. He says the wound hurt something in the back and went clear through to the lung. He'll have to get out of the Service."
Cary rose quickly. She went over to the piano and stood there pressing her hands against the top and hiding her face on them.
"It's too cruel," she moaned, "both you fellows—out of the Service! It's too cruel!"
Trevelyan knit and unknit his fingers, and was silent.
"He'll be all right—in time," he said slowly, with a dim idea of giving her comfort, "but he just won't be physically strong enough again for the army."
"And you've resigned!"