In this last half-hour, perhaps the last she would ever spend with him, there seemed to be nothing important enough to say. She certainly could not speak of the things which were in her heart. When people realize that they are together for perhaps the last time on earth, is there anything which is more eloquent than silence?
It was Freddy who came to the rescue; he talked to save Margaret's dignity. With his keen eye and appreciation of her character, he knew the fight she was making for self-control. His talk was of his men and of his life as an officer in the Army, and of the politics of the day. When he spoke of Ireland and of the satisfactory way in which she was behaving, their eyes met.
The question in Margaret's eyes was answered by a shake of his head and an immediate change of topic.
"Are you liking your work?" he said quickly.
"It's not thrilling, but it's doing my bit."
"Splendid!" he said, and Margaret knew that he understood.
A little silence followed, and then Freddy said, in rather a shamed voice, "Look here, Meg, we'd better be practical. I've left all my things in order—if I don't come back, you won't have any difficulty. Of course, all I've got will be yours. There are a few things I know you'll always look after, things I specially value."
Meg's throat was bursting and her lips began to quiver, but she choked back her emotions and regained her self-control. It came to her quite suddenly, just after speech had seemed hopeless.
"I understand—the Egyptian things. You can trust them to me."
"I know I can," he said. "And do take care of yourself. . . . We'd better be making a move, I suppose."