"Would Freddy mind?" he said. "I can't be disloyal to him!"
"Mind?" Meg said questioningly. "Mind my loving you? He knew my love could never change—it was born in unchanging Egypt."
"Yes, mind if you married me while I'm on leave?—I've got a whole fortnight, and my commission."
"Oh!" Meg said breathlessly. "You go at such a pace!"
Michael laughed boyishly at her astonishment. Her woman's mind had not thought of marriage; it was satisfied with the present conditions.
"I don't think Freddy would mind—not now. But"—her laugh joined Michael's—"you see, you haven't asked if I'd mind. We aren't even engaged—you wouldn't be. Do you remember?"
Michael pulled round her head with his hands, and kissed her lips. "I don't care if the whole world sees," he said, quoting her words. "Don't pull away your head—I'm just 'a bloomin' Tommy' back in Blighty with his girl."
Meg resigned herself to his kisses. "All London's doing it," she said breathlessly. "You'll see fathers and sons, and mothers and sons, and lovers walking arm in arm, in the West End even. Their time together is too short and precious to think of stupid conventions. The national reserve of the English nation is swept away."
While Margaret was speaking, she was thinking and thinking. Could she marry him before he returned to the Front? It was all so sudden. But why not? War had taught women to take what happiness they could get in their two hands, not to let it slip. Michael made her thoughts more definite.
"Did Freddy trust me?" he asked.