"Are you in love?" he asked.
"No," said the girl. "Are you?"
"No, certainly not," said Fitzgerald. "I never have been."
"I don't believe you," said Fifi. "You English cannot be trusted. The English girls are so well dressed."
"Why don't you believe me?" asked Fitzgerald, pressing her hand, and she made no effort to withdraw it. "I have never been in love; but now ... since I have met you ... I would do anything for you, Fifi. You are the nicest girl...."
He paused, conscience stricken, for his words seemed so futile. For a moment he paused, and then a strange thing happened. In all his days afterwards he could not account for it. How it took place was beyond his understanding, but he had taken Fifi in his arms and kissed her.
"Fifi, I love you," he said. "I'll do anything for you. After the war, I'll marry you, come here and live, or take you to England—whatever you desire.... Tell me that you care for me," he said, pressing her to his breast.
Fifi started back like a frightened fawn and pulled the window to. Almost immediately she opened it again and looked out.
"Go away, English soldier," she said, but there was no anger in her voice. "You're drunk and you should be in bed."
Fitzgerald hung around the place for quite an hour afterwards, hut Fifi did not come to the window again.