Eight broke out again, half singing, half humming some students' chorus—
'Tra la la, in die Nacht Quartier!'
The auburn-haired nurse came and stood by him for a moment, quieting him.
'Come now, come now, you must be quiet, you know.'
'Rather a pleasant person, that nurse,' said Doye when she had gone. 'Jolly hair, hasn't she?... Alix,' he added, 'do you know, you don't look up to much. Is it overwork, or merely the air of London in June?'
'It's the air of hospitals, I expect,' Nonie answered for her. 'She turned white directly we got into the ward.'
'Beastly places,' Basil agreed.
Alix began to talk, rather fast. She told stories of the other people at the art school; Nonie joined in, and they made Basil laugh. He talked too, also fast. His unhurt hand drummed on the arm of his chair; his forehead grew damper, his eyes shifted about under his black brows. He talked nonsense, absurdly; they all did. They all laughed, but Basil laughed most; he laughed too much. He said it was a horrible bore out there; funny, of course, in parts, but for the most part irredeemably tedious. And no reason to think it would ever end, except by both sides just getting too tired of it to go on.... Idiotic business, chucking bombs over into trenches full of chaps you had no grudge against and who wished you no ill ... and they chucking bombs at you, much more idiotic still. The whole thing hopelessly silly....
'Heil'ge Nacht, Heil'ge Nacht,' trilled Eight, with a nightmare of Christmas on him.
'Oh, damn,' muttered Basil, and got scarlet and then white.