“No-o,” I said slowly.
“For, you see, that’s what breaks me up. The thought of her, of what’s coming, of what will be ahead of her,—if anything happens to me.”
“Naturally, you can’t help thinking of such things,” I admitted. “You see, Ted, there is some logic in the military point of view that wants an officer single, isn’t there?”
“Good heavens, yes. I keep thinking of it all the time, and—wondering.”
“Wondering what?”
“What I’ll do when I get out there,—out at the front,” he said, drawing a long breath.
We were walking through the crowded section, near the Place de la Bastille. I touched his arm and drew his attention to the crowds.
“See there; do you know what war has meant to them? Do you realize, Ted, that your lot is the general lot, and that the real sacrifice is there,—in those who remain. Are we privileged to choose our way of service to our country? No. Noblesse oblige. Remember that, Ted; it answers everything.”
“You’re right,” he said, straightening up at once. “But it wasn’t myself I was caring about, it—it’s Molly.”
“Molly is no longer my sister or your wife. Molly has gone beyond us; she represents now something bigger and finer, the spiritual heritage of American womanhood.”