Jack glanced at him angrily.
"It was not honourable," he said; "my aunt's permission should have been asked, as you know; also, incidentally, my own. Does—does Dorothy care for you? Oh, you need not answer that; I think she does. Well, this war may change things."
"Yes," said Rickerl, sadly.
"I don't mean that," cried Jack; "Heaven knows I wouldn't have you hurt, Ricky; don't think I meant that—"
"I don't," said Rickerl, half smiling; "you risked your skin to save me half an hour ago."
"And you called off your bloody pack of hangmen for me," said Jack; "I'm devilish grateful, Ricky—indeed I am—and you know I'd be glad to have you in the family if—if it wasn't for this cursed war. Never mind, Dorothy generally has what she wants, even if it's—"
"Even if it's an Uhlan?" suggested Rickerl, gravely.
Jack smiled and laid his hand on Rickerl's arm.
"She ought to see you now, bareheaded, dusty, in your shirt-sleeves! You're not much like the attaché at the Diplomatic ball—eh, Ricky? If you marry Dorothy I'll punch your head. Come on, we've got to find out where we are."
"That's my road," observed Rickerl, quietly, pointing across the fields.