"Then we may as well start," he said.
"Unless you'd care to speak to her before you go?"
He picked up his hat and whistled for the dog.
"At her present rate of progress it may be your last chance, Raney."
"What the devil d'you mean?" he demanded fiercely.
"She thinks she's responsible for getting you wounded," I told him. "She thinks you went into the ranks and chucked over a comparatively safe job...."
"On her account?"
"Yes. And she's breaking her heart over it. Is it true?"
He stood silent, without a restive face-muscle to give me the key to his thoughts.
"You want me to tell her it's untrue?"