She laid her hand on his where it rested on the rock and the act was not without feeling.
“Something—there must be some way,” he almost pled.
“Listen, Tom,” she said. “And please don’t think it’s because I don’t like him.” She closed her hand on his a little. “You won’t think that, will you?”
He did not answer.
“You went to war, didn’t you—Tom? You had to shoot men—to kill them. Didn’t you? It was no pleasure for you, I know that. It was just your duty, and you conquered your feelings and did it. Didn’t you, Tom?”
He nodded assent.
“You didn’t think about your own feelings, or your own danger, did you?”
“Neither did he,” said Tom, his voice breaking.
But she ignored this. “The nation, the government, the law, justice,—all those things are more important than you or I. Aren’t they—Tom?”
“I suppose so.”