“You know very well what I mean, young woman.  I want to put things clearly before you—­” It is the most difficult thing in the world for a man—­even without legs—­to talk straight about the facts of life to a young girl.  He has no idea how much she knows about them and how much she doesn’t.  To tear away veils and reveal frightening starkness is an act from which he shrinks with all the modesty of a (perhaps) deluded sex.  I took courage.  “I want,” I repeated, “to put things clearly before you.  You are marrying this young man.  You will have a week’s married life.  He goes away like a gallant fellow to fight for his country.  He may be killed in the course of the next few weeks.  Like a brave girl you’ve got to face it.  In the course of time a child may be born—­without a father to look after him.  It’s a terrific responsibility.”

She knelt upright and put both her hands on my shoulders, almost embracing me, and the laughter died away from her eyes, giving place to something which awakened memories of what I had seen once or twice in the eyes of the dearest of all women.  She put her face very close to mine and whispered: 

“Don’t you see, dear, it’s in some sort of way because of that?  Don’t you think it would be awful for a strong, clean, brave English life like his to go out without leaving behind him someone to—­well, you know what I mean—­to carry on the same traditions—­ to be the same clean brave Englishman in the future?”

I smiled and nodded.  Quite a different kind of nod from the previous one.

“Thousands of girls are doing it, you dear old Early Victorian, and aren’t ashamed to say so to those who really love and can understand them.  And you do love and understand, don’t you?”

She set me off at arm’s length, and held me with her bright unflinching eyes.

“I do, my dear,” said I.  “But there’s only one thing that troubles me.  Marriage is a lifelong business.  Captain Connor may win through to a green old age.  I hope to God the gallant fellow will.  Your present motives are beautiful and heroic.  But do you care for him sufficiently to pass a lifetime with him—­after the war—­an ordinary, commonplace lifetime?”

With the same clear gaze full on me she said:—­

“Didn’t I tell you that I had given him my love?”

“You did.”

“Then,” she retorted with a smile, “my dear Major Didymus, what more do you want?”

“Nothing, my dear Betty.”

I kissed her.  She threw her arms round my neck and kissed me again.  Sergeant Marigold entered on the sentimental scene and preserved a face of wood.  Betty rose to her feet slowly and serenely and smiled at Marigold.

“Miss Fairfax’s car,” he announced.

“Marigold,” said I, “Miss Fairfax is going to be married the day after to-morrow to Captain Connor of the—­”

“I know, sir,” interrupted my one-eyed ramrod.  “I’m very glad, if I may be permitted to say so, Miss.  I’ve made it my duty to inspect all the troops that have been quartered hereabouts during the last eight months.  And Captain Connor is one of the few that really know their business.  I shouldn’t at all mind to serve under him.  I can’t say more, Miss.  I wish you happiness.”