And yet the thing gripped. The tragedy of
Ypres came and I escaped from the hospital."
"You were not fit to go. They all said that."
"I couldn't help it," he answered. "The guns were there, calling, and
one forgot. I've been back to England three times since then, and each
time one thought was foremost in my mind--'shall I meet Sister
Josephine?'"
"But you never even made enquiries," she reminded him. "At my hospital I
made it a strict rule that our names in civil life were never mentioned
or divulged, but afterwards you could have found out."
He touched her left hand very lightly, lingered for a moment on her
fourth finger.
"It was the ring," he said. "I knew that you were married, and
somehow, knowing that, I desired to know no more. I suppose that
sounds rather like a cry from Noah's Ark, but I couldn't help it. I
just felt like that."
"And now you probably know a good deal about me," she remarked, with a
rather sad smile. "I have been married nine years. I gather that you know
my husband by name and repute."
"Your husband is associated with a man whom I have always considered my
enemy," he said.
"My husband's friends are not my friends," she rejoined, a little
bitterly, "nor does he take me into his confidence as regards his
business exploits."
"Then what does it matter?" he asked.
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