“I’m walking.”

He advanced a step towards her.  “Won’t you let me run you round in the car?”

“I prefer to walk.”

Her tone was final.  She took affectionate leave of me and went to the door, which Boyce held open.

“Good-night,” she said, without proffering her hand.

He followed her out into the hall.

“Betty,” he said in a low voice, “won’t you ever forgive me?”

“I have no feelings towards you either of forgiveness or resentment,” she replied.

They did not mean to be overheard, but my hearing is unusually acute, and I could not help catching their conversation.

“I know I seem to have behaved badly to you.”

“You have behaved worse to others,” said Betty.  “I don’t wonder at your shrinking from showing your face here.”  Then, louder, for my benefit.  “Good-night, Major Boyce.  I really can walk up to the hospital by myself.”

Evidently she walked away and Boyce after her, for I heard him say: 

“You shan’t go till you’ve told me what you mean.”

What she replied I don’t know.  To judge by the slam of the front door it must have been something defiant.  Presently he entered debonair, with a smile on his lips.

“I’m afraid I’ve left you in a draught,” he said, shutting the door.  “I couldn’t resist having a word with her and wishing her happiness and the rest of it.  We were engaged once upon a time.”

“I know,” said I.

“I hope you don’t think I did wrong in releasing her from the engagement.  I don’t consider a man has a right to go on active service—­especially on such service as the present war—­and keep a girl bound at home.  Still less has he a right to marry her.  What happens in so many cases?  A fortnight’s married life.  The man goes to the front.  Then ping! or whizz-bang! and that’s the end of him, and so the girl is left.”

“On the other hand,” said I, “you must remember that the girl may hold very strong opinions and take pings and whizz-bangs very deliberately into account.”

Boyce helped himself to another whisky and soda.  “It’s a matter for the individual conscience.  I decided one way.  Connor obviously decided another, and, like a lucky fellow, found Betty of his way of thinking.  Perhaps I have old-fashioned notions.”  He took a long pull at his drink.  “Well, it can’t be helped,” he said with a smile.  “The other fellow has won, and I must take it gracefully. ...  By George! wasn’t she looking stunning to-night—­in that kit? ...  I hope you didn’t mind my bursting in on you—­”

“Of course not,” said I, politely.