Hubert turned to the door and opened it and gazed out through the dark about the hills and woods where that night the hundreds of thousands of Americans of the First Army lay. “Funny about us being back here, isn’t it?” he said, with the reflective philosophy which he was likely to employ when dismissing one subject. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot these last days, seeing our fellows everywhere--so awful many of them. Everyone of ’em--or their fathers--came from this side first of all because they didn’t like the way things were going in Europe, and they wanted to get away from it. But they couldn’t get away from it by just leaving it. They had to come back after all to settle the trouble. That’s an interesting idea, when you think of it, isn’t it?” “Yes,” said Ruth. “Hubert----” “How does Gerry feel about being an American now?” “I’ve not talked with Gerry for more than three months.” “Being an American,” Hubert mused, “being an American is some privilege these days--even if you only drive an ambulance. To be Gerry Hull now!” He gazed at Ruth, who looked away, but who could not stop color suffusing her face under his challenge. He glanced about the room and observed that they were quite alone. “I’ve wondered a good bit recently, Miss Alden,” he said in a queer, repressed matter-of-fact way, “whether you might prefer--or might not prefer--to have me tell you that I love you. You must know it, of course; and since it’s a fact, sometimes it seemed that we might be better friends hereafter if I just told you that fact. You know I’ve not any silly idea that you could care for me. No; don’t please!” he stopped her, when she attempted to speak. “We’ll not arrive anywhere except by sticking to facts; we’re friends; may we ever be!” “O, we will be, Hubert!” “Then it is better that I’ve told you I love you.” “But you mustn’t!” “I can’t control that, Miss Alden.” “Mayn’t I be Ruth even now?” “Ruth, then; yes, I like that. Good night, Ruth.” “You must go? But tomorrow you’ll----” “Tomorrow no one knows where any one’ll be. But it’s been great to see you again.” “And you, Hubert! Good night; good luck, and--thank you again a thousand times.” He went; and on the morrow, as everyone knows, the American First Army went “over the top,” and at night the St. Mihiel salient, which had stuck like a Titanic thorn in the flank of France for four years, was wiped out; the American guns in the next days engaged the guns of the outer fortresses of Metz. In the stream of casualties, which was the American cost of the victory, Hubert was swept to the rear. Ruth read his name cited in the orders of a certain day for extraordinary coolness and devotion in caring for the wounded under fire. He himself was wounded again severely, and Ruth tried to visit him at the hospital to which he was sent; but she was able only to learn that he was convalescing and had been transferred to the south of France.