“Oh, if you’re put off as easily as all that——­”

She was intolerable.  She seemed to think he was only going because she’d shamed him into it.

That evening he sang: 

  “’What are you doing all the day, Rendal, my son? 
  What are you doing all the day, my pretty one?’”

He understood that song now.

  “’What will you leave to your lover, Rendal, my son? 
  What will you leave to your lover, my pretty one? 
  A rope to hang her, mother,
  A rope to hang her, mother....’”

“Go it, Col-Col!” Out on the terrace Queenie laughed her harsh, cruel laugh.

  “‘For I’m sick to my heart and I fain would lie down.’”

“‘I’m sick to my heart and I fain would lie down,’” Queenie echoed, with clipped words, mocking him.

He hated Queenie.

And he loved her.  At night, at night, she would unbend, she would be tender and passionate, she would touch him with quick, hurrying caresses, she would put her arms round him and draw him to her, kissing and kissing.  And with her young, beautiful body pressed tight to him, with her mouth on his and her eyes shining close and big in the darkness, Colin would forget.

iii

    Dr. Cutler’s Field Ambulance, British Hospital, Antwerp.

    September 20th, 1914.

Dearest Auntie Adeline,—­I haven’t been able to write before.  There’s been a lot of fighting all round here and we’re frightfully busy getting in wounded.  And when you’ve done you’re too tired to sit up and write letters.  You simply roll into bed and drop off to sleep.  Sometimes we’re out with the ambulances half the night.

You needn’t worry about me.  I’m keeping awfully fit.  I am glad now I’ve always lived in the open air and played games and ploughed my own land.  My muscles are as hard as any Tommie’s.  So are Queenie’s.  You see, we have to act as stretcher bearers as well as chauffeurs.  You’re not much good if you can’t carry your own wounded.

Queenie is simply splendid.  She really doesn’t know what fear is, and she’s at her very best under fire.  It sort of excites her and bucks her up.  I can’t help seeing how fine she is, though she was so beastly to poor old Col-Col before he joined up.  But talk of the War bringing out the best in people, you should simply see her out here with the wounded.  Dr. Cutler (the Commandant) thinks no end of her.  She drives for him and I drive for a little doctor man called Dicky Cartwright.  He’s awfully good at his job and decent.  Queenie doesn’t like him.  I can’t think why.

    Good-bye, darling.  Take care of yourself.

    Your loving

    Anne.

    Antwerp. October 3rd.