“Drown it, indeed! burn it in, more likely. I can’t imagine how you ever came to--Georgie, there’s one thing that puzzles me still. Why were you so angry because Stratford went to the Palace instead of me? I did all I could to go, of course, because I wanted to do something for you; but why did you mind so much?” “Never mind,” said Georgia, growing rather red; “it was absurd and unreasonable of me. I know you must have thought that I wanted you to be killed.” “But why was it?” “I suppose you will give me no peace until I tell you. It was because I couldn’t bear to think you cared so little about me as to let him go instead.” “I wish I had gone!” said Dick, enviously. “Then you would probably have been killed, and the treaty would not have been signed, and we should never have known what we know now--about our caring for each other, I mean. I might have guessed the truth when I heard that you had gone, but I could never have been sure; it might only have been a way of taking a noble revenge on me, you know. And you would have sacrificed yourself and perhaps even died, believing all the time that I detested you. I know you deserved it, but still, I should have been sorry. No, things are much better as they are. It was very silly of me to think and say what I did.” “I like you to be silly about me.” “And you don’t like me under other circumstances? I hope I am not always silly.” “I don’t care about circumstances, or wisdom, or foolishness, or anything. I love you because you are yourself.” “Dick, you are incorrigible!” There was a slight soreness in Georgia’s tone. It was undeniable that Dick was lacking in tact. “Now I have gone and hurt your feelings again! I wish I wasn’t such a blundering idiot.” “Dick, listen to me. I want you to do me a favour.” “If there is any single thing in the whole world I could do for you----” “You would do it, I know, however great it was. But it is a number of little things, Dick. I know you don’t mean to hurt me, but you often do. Think a moment. I don’t love you any more because of your Victoria Cross, but it makes me glad and proud to think that you have it. I know I can’t expect you to be glad that I am a doctor, and proud of being one, because you dislike the very idea; but I want you to treat the subject tenderly, because it is connected with me. I daresay it seems very strange to you that I should be as sensitive about my profession as you are about yours, and I know you will never look at the two things in the same light, but I ask you to regard it as a concession to my weakness when you let an opportunity pass without a sneer. We must agree to differ on this question, I suppose, but I want you to do it gracefully, for my sake.” There were tears in her eyes as she looked at him, and Dick felt the enormity of his conduct more keenly than he had ever done in the days when he delighted to provoke her to arguments and the delivery of lectures.