Rosamund did not seem surprised by Dion’s abrupt statement, though he had never spoken of an intention to join any Volunteer Corps. She knew he was fond of shooting, and had been in camp sometimes when he was at a public school.
“What’s that?” she asked. “I’ve heard of it, but I thought it was a corps for men who are painters, sculptors, writers and musicians.”
“It was founded, nearly forty years ago, I believe, for fellows working in the Arts, but all sorts of business men are let in now.”
“Will it take up much time?”
“No; I shall have to drill a certain amount, and in summer I shall go into camp for a bit, and of course, if a big war ever came, I could be of some use.”
“I’m glad you’ve joined.”
“I thought you would be. I shall see a little less of you, I suppose, but, after all, a husband can’t be perpetually hanging about the house, can he?”
Rosamund looked at him and smiled, then laughed gently.
“Dion, how absurd you are! In some ways you are only a boy still.”
“Why, what to you mean?”