“Thank God.” Dick spoke from the bottom of his heart.
“Well, that's not a pretty way of saying you're glad to get rid of me. But men in your condition are allowed to be selfish.”
“I didn't mean that. Will you get a hundred pounds cashed for me before you leave?”
“That's a slender amount for housekeeping, isn't it?”
“Oh, it's only for—marriage expenses.”
Torpenhow brought him the money, counted it out in fives and tens, and carefully put it away in the writing table.
“Now I suppose I shall have to listen to his ravings about his girl until I go. Heaven send us patience with a man in love!” he said to himself.
But never a word did Dick say of Maisie or marriage. He hung in the doorway of Torpenhow's room when the latter was packing and asked innumerable questions about the coming campaign, till Torpenhow began to feel annoyed.
“You're a secretive animal, Dickie, and you consume your own smoke, don't you?” he said on the last evening.
“I—I suppose so. By the way, how long do you think this war will last?”