"I hope I shall see you again, Miles," he began, as they ascended the steps leading to his quarters. "I have only a few minutes to spare now. Come up this evening, will you?"
"Yes, Colonel."
Marjorie moved towards the door. The colour mounted to her cheeks as the Colonel stepped forward to open it for her. Miles, feeling that he ought to say something, waited behind a minute.
"I'm sorry about—about this," he said. "I don't understand it."
"I do, perfectly—well, good-bye, my boy."
His grave, stern face softened wonderfully as he grasped Miles' hand.
"What an old crosspatch he is," began Marjorie as her brother came up with her. "I daren't for the life of me ride through there again. Did you see, Miles, he was quite white with rage when I cheeked him? Those Tommies thought it awful sport."
"What a little ass you are," said Miles crossly, "to make all that row before the men."
Marjorie looked away. "It served him jolly well right," she said, pedalling faster.
They rode home the rest of the way in silence.