"Yes, Nancy." He tried to speak cheerfully, but his heart was like lead. "Bob," and there was a tone in her voice which he had never heard before. "What Dick has been telling us isn't true, is it?" She had reached his side by this time, and, in spite of her pallor, and the peculiar light in her eyes, he had never seen her look so beautiful. "What has he been telling you?" he asked, feeling ashamed of himself for asking the question. He knew quite well. "That--all the rest of them have offered themselves for their country, and you--you----" "Let me explain, Nancy," he cried eagerly. "Let me tell you why I can't----" "I don't want any explanations," and there was anger in her voice. "Lord Kitchener has called for volunteers. He has asked for half a million men, so that we may stand by our word of honour, and save our country. What I want to know is, are you going to play the coward?" "You know my principles, Nancy. You know what we said to each other down at Gurnard's Head, and----" "I don't want to hear anything more about that," she interrupted impatiently. "I want to know what you are going to _do_. Please answer me." She had ceased to be pale now, although her lips quivered and her hands trembled. A pink spot burnt on each cheek, and her eyes burned like fire. Bob knew that she would not be satisfied with subterfuges, or contented with evasions. Neither, indeed, did he wish to shelter himself behind them. "I'm going to do nothing," he replied. "That is I'm going to carry out the plan we agreed on. Look here, Nancy----" But again she interrupted him. She was angry beyond words, but she kept herself in check. "That's all I wanted to know. Thank you. We are not going to play tennis for a little while. We are all going for a walk. Good afternoon." "You mean that you do not wish me to go with you." "I do not think you--you would enjoy coming. You see the others----" She did not complete the sentence, but hurried away, leaving him alone. Bob felt as though the heavens had become black. He had expected to be misunderstood, sneered at, despised; but he had never dreamed that Nancy would turn from him like this. He knew she hated war. He remembered her telling him about her eldest brother who had been killed in the Boer War, and how it had darkened her home, and added years to her father's life. She had encouraged him in the career he had marked out too; she had agreed with him that the work he had at heart was the noblest any man could do. As a consequence, he thought she would understand him, sympathise with him.