For a little neither could find any words to say. So still they sat that Margaret could hear the muffled ticking of Peter’s watch. At length Peter spoke. “What shall I tell my father?” he said. “Tell him--” said Margaret, and her voice broke. “Aren’t you sure, darling--is that it?” She nodded with tears in her eyes. He took his arm from round her waist, and she felt very lonely. “But I’m always going to love you,” he said. She felt still more alone. “Peter,” she said, “I can’t explain things very well, but I--I--don’t want you to go away feeling as if--” Manners’ eyes lifted up. “As if it was all over?” he asked eagerly. “Almost that, Peter,” she said. “I--I can’t say yes now--but God knows, Peter, perhaps sometime--I--I can.” She was thinking of the flighty and moody Aladdin, who had loved her so long, and whom (she suddenly realized in spite of the words just spoken) she loved back with all her heart and soul. Honor rose hot in her to give Peter a final answer now and forever--no. But she looked into his eyes and could not. He looked at his watch. “Margaret dear,” he said, “I’ve got to go. Thanks for everything, and for the hope and all, and--and I may never see you again, but if I do, will you give me my answer then?” “I will,” said Margaret, “when I see you again.” They rose. “May I kiss you, Margaret?” he said. “Certainly, Peter.” He kissed her on the cheek, and went away with her tears on his lips. A newly organized fife-and-drum corps marched by struggling with “The Girl I Left Behind Me.” In those days the most strangled rendering of that tune would bring lumps into the throats of those that heard. XXII