"I gave him the key to the Gardens that day," he hurried on. "I was at the window with him when he saw you. I understood in a minute when I saw his face and he'd said half a dozen words to me. I gave him my key. He has got it now." He actually snatched at both her hands and gripped them. It was a _grip_ and his eyes burned through a sort of sudden moisture. "We can't stay here and talk. But I couldn't _not_ say it! Oh, I say, be _good_ to him! You would, if he had only a day to live because some damned German bullet had struck him. You're life--you're youngness--you're _to-day_! Don't say 'No' to _anything_ he asks of you--for God's sake, don't." "I'd give him my heart in his two hands," gasped Robin. "I couldn't give him my soul because it was always his." "God take care of the pair of you--and be good to the rest of us," whispered George, wringing her hands hard and dropping them. That was how he went away. A few weeks later he was lying, a mangled object, in a field in Flanders. One of thousands--living, laughing, good as honest bread is good; the possible passer-on of life and force and new thinking for new generations--one of hundreds of thousands--one of millions before the end came--nice, healthy, normal-minded George, son and heir of a house of decent nobles. CHAPTER V And still youth marched away, and England seemed to swarm with soldiers and, at times, to hear and see nothing but marching music and marching feet, though life went on in houses, shops, warehouses and offices, and new and immense activities evolved as events demanded them. Many of the new activities were preparations for the comfort and care of soldiers who were going away, and for those who would come back and would need more care than the others. Women were doing astonishing work and revealing astonishing power and determination. The sexes mingled with a businesslike informality unknown in times of peace. Lovely girls went in and out of their homes, and from one quarter of London to another without question. They walked with a brisk step and wore the steady expression of creatures with work in view. Slim young war-widows were to be seen in black dresses and veiled small hats with bits of white crape inside their brims. Sometimes their little faces were awful to behold, but sometimes they wore a strained look of exaltation.