Sane: but for how long? It varies with the type. There are some who love the game--who love it for itself alone. They sit on the steps of the War Office, and drive their C.O.'s mad: they pull strings both male and female, until the powers that be rise in their wrath, and consign them to perdition and--France. There are others who do not take it quite like that. They do not _want_ to go back particularly--and if they were given an important job in England, a job for which they had special aptitude, in which they knew they were invaluable, they would take it without regret. But though they may not seek earnestly for France--neither do they seek for home. Their wants do not matter; their private interests do not count: it is only England to-day.... And lastly there is a third class, the class to whom that accursed catch-phrase, "Doing his bit," means everything. There are some who consider they have done their bit--that they need do no more. They draw comparisons and become self-righteous. "Behold I am not as other men are," they murmur complacently; "have not I kept the home fires burning, and amassed money making munitions?" "I am doing my bit." "I have been out; I have been hit--and _he_ has not. Why should I go again? I have done my bit." Well, friend, it may be as you say. But methinks there is only one question worth putting and answering to-day. Don't bother about having done your bit. Are you doing your _all_? Let us leave it at that. CHAPTER III THE WOMAN AND THE MAN "When's your board, Jim?" The flickering light of the fire lit up the old oak hall, playing on the face of the girl buried in an easy chair. Tea was over, and they were alone. "On Tuesday, dear," he answered gravely. "But you aren't fit, old man; you don't think you're fit yet, do you?" There was a note of anxiety in her voice. "I'm perfectly fit, Sybil," he said quietly--"perfectly fit, my dear." "Then you'll go back soon?" She looked at him with frightened eyes. "Just as soon as they'll send me. I am going to ask the Board to pass me fit 'for General Service.'" "Oh, Jim!"--he hardly caught the whisper. "Oh, Jim! my man." "Well----" he came over and knelt in front of her. "It makes me sick," she cried fiercely, "to think of you and Hugh and men like you--and then to think of all these other cowardly beasts. My dear, my dear--do you _want_ to go back?" "At present, I don't. I'm utterly happy here with you, and the old peaceful country life. I'm afraid, Syb--I'm afraid of going on with it I'm afraid of its sapping my vitality--I'm afraid of never wanting to go back." His voice died away, and then suddenly he leant forward and kissed her on the mouth.