’It isn’t pretty, but war isn’t pretty, and nothing we do is pretty.  I’d have blushed like a rose when I was young and innocent to imagine the things I’ve put my hand to in the last three years.  But have you any other way, Dick?  I’m not proud, and I’ll scrap the plan if you can show me another . . .  Night after night I’ve hammered the thing out, and I can’t hit on a better . . .  Heigh-ho, Dick, this isn’t like you,’ and he grinned ruefully.  ’You’re making yourself a fine argument in favour of celibacy—­in time of war, anyhow.  What is it the poet sings?—­

   White hands cling to the bridle rein,
   Slipping the spur from the booted heel—­’

I was as angry as sin, but I felt all the time I had no case.  Blenkiron stopped his game of Patience, sending the cards flying over the carpet, and straddled on the hearthrug.

’You’re never going to be a piker.  What’s dooty, if you won’t carry it to the other side of Hell?  What’s the use of yapping about your country if you’re going to keep anything back when she calls for it?  What’s the good of meaning to win the war if you don’t put every cent you’ve got on your stake?  You’ll make me think you’re like the jacks in your English novels that chuck in their hand and say it’s up to God, and call that “seeing it through” . . .  No, Dick, that kind of dooty don’t deserve a blessing.  You dursn’t keep back anything if you want to save your soul.

‘Besides,’ he went on, ’what a girl it is!  She can’t scare and she can’t soil.  She’s white-hot youth and innocence, and she’d take no more harm than clean steel from a muck-heap.’

I knew I was badly in the wrong, but my pride was all raw.

‘I’m not going to agree till I’ve talked to Mary.’

‘But Miss Mary has consented,’ he said gently.  ‘She made the plan.’

* * * * *

Next day, in clear blue weather that might have been May, I drove Mary down to Fontainebleau.  We lunched in the inn by the bridge and walked into the forest.  I hadn’t slept much, for I was tortured by what I thought was anxiety for her, but which was in truth jealousy of Ivery.  I don’t think that I would have minded her risking her life, for that was part of the game we were both in, but I jibbed at the notion of Ivery coming near her again.  I told myself it was honourable pride, but I knew deep down in me that it was jealousy.

I asked her if she had accepted Blenkiron’s plan, and she turned mischievous eyes on me.

’I knew I should have a scene with you, Dick.  I told Mr Blenkiron so . . .  Of course I agreed.  I’m not even very much afraid of it.  I’m a member of the team, you know, and I must play up to my form.  I can’t do a man’s work, so all the more reason why I should tackle the thing I can do.’

‘But,’ I stammered, ’it’s such a . . . such a degrading business for a child like you.  I can’t bear . . .  It makes me hot to think of it.’