“Jack, shall we see Roy?” inquired Molly.
Jack had little doubt that Roy would look in. Everything was to be done in a terrific hurry, and he had come himself to say good-bye there and then; but Roy would certainly appear. A few minutes later he called Polly away into the girls’ little boudoir, and said approvingly—
“That is a brave Polly! No tears and no wailings. ’Tis as should be.”
“Dear Jack, I know well how glad you are to be going, and I would not hold you back.” Polly spoke courageously, though she looked white.
“And when I come again—a battered soldier, maybe, with some part of me missing—— Nay, I did not mean to make things harder for you, Polly. I was but jesting.”
Polly had difficulty in controlling her shudder.
“Come, come, that was nothing; that was but a foolish jest. You will bid me God-speed, I know; and you will think of us. Roy is frantic to be off. Polly, no letter from Verdun?”
She shook her head.
“If I were Denham—kept there all these long years in a purposeless captivity—and, it may be, never a letter from Polly to cheer him——”
Polly looked sadly at her brother.