She put her hand on his. “But what’s to become of me?”
“We needn’t cry over my corpse yet,” said Doggie.
The Dean, after awhile, returned with his bottle of medicine, which he displayed with conscientious ostentation. They dined. Peggy again went over the ground of the possible commission.
“I’m afraid she has set her heart on it, my boy,” said the Dean.
Peggy cried a little on parting. This time Doggie was going, not to the fringe, but to the heart of the Great Adventure. Into the thick of the carnage. A year ago, she said, through her tears, she would have thought herself much more fitted for it than Marmaduke.
“Perhaps you are still, dear,” said Doggie, with his patient smile.
He saw them to the taxi which was to take them to the familiar Sturrocks’s. Before getting in, Peggy embraced him.
“Keep out of the way of shells and bullets as much as you can.”
The Dean blew his nose, God-blessed him, and murmured something incoherent about fighting for the glory of old England.
“Good luck,” cried Peggy from the window.