"Thank you. But, oh! the difference between what I am and what I aspired to be!"
"And, ah! the difference between what I have done and what I meant to do!" he said.
Her black eyes flashed. "You have never really felt it. Achievement with you has never hit below the mark. You, of all men living, are least fitted to enter into the rueful regrets and dismal disillusions of a Hannah Wrynche."
"Hannah Wrynche, who is content to do a woman's work and fill a woman's place; Hannah Wrynche, who has atoned for a moment of ambitious—shall I say imprudence?—splendidly and nobly, has no reason to be rueful or regretful. Don't shake your head. Do you think I don't know what you are doing, day after day, to help and cheer those poor fellows at the Convalescent Hospital?"
Her eyes were full of tears. "You make too much of my poor efforts. You underestimate the effect of praise from you."
"I said very little in the last cipher despatch that got through to Colonel Rickson at Malamye, but what I did say was very much to the purpose, believe me."
She gasped, staring at him with circular eyes of incredulity. "You've mentioned—me—in your despatches. Me?"
"Just so!" he said, and left her groping for the ridiculous little gossamer handkerchief to dry the tears of pride and gratitude that were tumbling down her cheeks.