She didn’t answer.

“There,” he said, “you see.”

“Oh, Billy, won’t you leave him one shred?”

“No.  Not one shred.”

Yet, even now, if he could only be splendid—­If he could only be it!  Why shouldn’t Billy leave him one shred?  After all, he didn’t know all the awful things John had done; and she would never tell him....  He did know two things, the two things she didn’t know.  She had got to know them.  The desire that urged her to the completion of her knowledge pursued her now.  She would possess him in her mind if in no other way.

“Billy—­do you remember that day at Melle, when John lost me?  Did you tell him I was going back with you?”

“No.  I didn’t.”

Then he had left her.  And he had lied to both of them.

“Was the boy dead or alive when he left him?”

“He was alive all right.  We could have saved him.”

He had died—­he had died of fright, then.

“You said he was dead.”

“I know I did.  I lied.”

“...  And before that—­when he was with you and Trixie on that battlefield—­Did he—­”

“Yes.  Then, too ...  You see there aren’t any shreds.  The only thing you can say is he can’t help it.  Nobody’d have been hard on him if he hadn’t gassed so much about danger.”

“That’s the part you can’t understand....  But, Billy, why did you lie about him?”

“Because I didn’t want you to know, then.  I knew it would hurt you, I knew it would hurt you more than anything else.”

“That was rather wonderful of you.”

“Wasn’t wonderful at all.  I knew because what you think, what you feel, matters more to me than anything else.  Except perhaps my job.  I have to keep that separate.”

Her mind slid over that, not caring, returning to the object of its interest.

“Look here, Billy, you may be right.  It probably doesn’t matter to us.  But it’ll be perfectly awful for him.”

“They can’t do anything to him, Sharlie.”

“It’s what he’ll do to himself.”

“Suicide?  Not he.”

“I don’t mean that.  Can’t you see that when he gets away to England, safe, and the funk settles down he’ll start romancing all over again.  He’ll see the whole war again like that; and then he’ll remember what he’s done.  He’ll have to live all his life remembering....”

“He won’t. You’ll remember—­You’ll suffer.  You’re feeling the shame he ought to feel and doesn’t.”

“Well, somebody’s got to feel it....  And he’ll feel it too.  He won’t be let off.  As long as he lives he’ll remember....  I don’t want him to have that suffering.”

“He’s brought it on himself, Sharlie.”

“I don’t care.  I don’t want him to have it.  I couldn’t bear it if he got away.”

“Of course, if you’re going to be unhappy about it—­”

“The only thing is, can we go after him?  Can we spare a car?”