"Yes, she's straight," Lady Pen repeated. "I don't believe there's many girls who would have kept quiet--not when the man they cared about was being got at. You may ring now, Aunt Mary. I'm through. Good night." * * * * * * * * "Do you realise," said Peter as they turned out of the dark Manor drive into the moonlit road, "that I've been here on and off over a month, and that we are now nearly at the end of July?" "You've only just come to _us_," said Jan. "You can't count the time you stayed at 'The Green Hart' as a visit." "And now I have come ... I'm not quite sure I've done wisely, unless...." "Unless what?" "Unless I can put something through that I came back from India to do." Jan did not answer. They walked on in silence, and Peter looked at the moon. "I think," he said, "you've always had a pretty clear idea why I came home from India ... haven't you?" "It was time for your leave," Jan said nervously. "It isn't good to stay out there too long." "I shouldn't have taken leave this year, though, if it hadn't been for you." "You've always been kind and helpful to me ... I hope it hasn't been very ... inconvenient." Peter laughed, and stopped in the middle of the road. "I'm fond of fencing," he said lightly, "and free play's all very well and pretty; but I've always thought that the real thing, with the buttons off the foils, must have been a lot more sport than anything we get now." Again Jan was silent. "You've fenced with me, Jan," he said slowly, "ever since I turned up that day unexpectedly. Now, I want a straight answer. Do you care at all, or have you only friendship for me? Look at me; tell me the truth." "It's all so complicated and difficult," she faltered, and her eyes fell beneath Peter's. "What is?" "This caring--when you aren't a free agent." "Free fiddlestick! You either care or you don't--which is it?" "I care a great deal too much for my own peace of mind," said Jan. "I am quite satisfied," said Peter. And if Mr. Withells had seen what happened to the "sensible" Miss Ross just then, his neatly-brushed hair would have stood straight on end. In the road, too! CHAPTER XXVII AUGUST, 1914 "No," said Jan, "it would be like marrying a widow ... with encumbrances." "But you don't happen to be a widow--besides, if you were, and had a dozen encumbrances, if we want to get married it's nobody's business but our own." Peter spoke testily. He wanted Jan to marry him before he went back to India in October, and if he got the billet he hoped for, to follow him, taking the two children out, early in November. But Jan saw a thousand lions in the way. She was pulled in this direction and that, and though she knew she had got to depend on Peter to--as she put it--"a dreadful extent," yet she hesitated to saddle him with her decidedly explosive affairs, without a great deal more consideration than he seemed disposed to allow her.