I couldn't tell her—she was so white under her wound and the shock of it—I couldn't tell her that she had given me no reason to suppose that she would be with him.
And she went on. "Why couldn't you have wired in the morning, then? I could have caught that boat."
"Because, my dear girl, he doesn't want you to go out."
"It doesn't matter what he wants—or thinks he wants—I'm going.
"And what's more," she said, "you've got to take me. That's all you've gained by trying to stop me."
I replied that nothing would induce me to take her out, that I'd promised
Jimmy she shouldn't go.
She said that didn't matter. Jimmy'd know I couldn't keep a silly promise like that, and if I wouldn't take her she'd simply go by herself.
I tried to explain to her very gently that her going—at all—was out of the question. She would do no good to anybody by going; she would annoy Jimmy most frightfully; untrained women were not wanted at the front.
Untrained? She had got her certificate three days ago. What did I suppose she had wanted it for—if it wasn't to go out with Jimmy if he went?
"You knew he was going, then?" I said.