“Certainly you should not do so.  We shall be happy when the war is over.  I will be as true to you as to my duty.  If I return alive my existence shall be devoted to making you happy.”

“Love is like a bird; it must not be allowed too much freedom.  Remember, I have always told you I will never leave you.”

“But, dearest Edith, that is utterly impossible!  Have you any idea what war is like?”

“I should have thought I had seen enough of it.”

“Yes, in India and on sea.  But in Europe war is carried on somewhat differently.  Every seat in the trains is calculated exactly; it is the same in barracks, cantonments, and bivouacs.  There is no room for a woman.  What would my comrades say of me if I appeared in your company?”

“You can say I am your wife.”

“But, Edith, the idea is not to be seriously thought of.  As a Prussian officer I need permission before I can marry.  How can I join my regiment in the company of a lady?  Or how could I now get leave to marry?”

“Quite easily.  Many officers marry at the beginning of a war.”

“Well, but even if I get leave now, according to the law we could not be married for some months.  I have already proposed that you should go to my relatives at Hamburg and wait there till the war is over, and I still think that is the only right thing to do.”

“But I will not go to your relatives at Hamburg.”

“And why not?”

“Do you think that I, an Englishwoman, would go and live in a German family to be stared at?  Do you think I could bear to read all the lies about England in the German newspapers?”

“My uncle and aunt are people of great tact, and my cousins will show you due respect.”

“Cousins!  No, thank you!  I should be out of place in the midst of the domestic felicity of strangers.”

“If you won’t go there, you might stop at a pension in Berlin.”

“No, I won’t do that either.  I will stay with you.”

“But, dearest Edith, how do you think this could be managed?”

“I will have nothing to do with conventionalities; otherwise life in Germany would be intolerable.  I should die of anxiety in a pension, thinking every moment of the dangers to which you are exposed.  No, I couldn’t endure that.  I have lived through too much—­seen too much that is terrible.  My nerves would not be strong enough for me to vegetate in a family or a Berlin pension in the midst of the trivialities of everyday life.  Have pity on me, and don’t leave me!  Your presence is the only effectual medicine for my mind.”

“Ah! dearest Edith, my whole heart is full of you, and I would gladly do as you wish.  But every step we take must be practical and judicious.  If you say you will stay with me, you must have some idea in your mind.  How, then, do you think we can manage to be together?  Remember that on my return I shall be an officer on service, and shall have to carry out the orders I receive.”