“Well,” returned Wilfred, throwing his chest out impressively, “I am not running away from her, but if she saw me with these on she might feel funny.” “I don’t think,” returned Caroline quickly, “that she would feel very funny.” “Well, you know what I mean,” said Wilfred, flushing a little. “You know how it is with a fellow’s mother.” Caroline nodded gravely. “Yes, I have learned how it is with mothers,” she said, thinking of the mothers she had known since the war began, young though she was. “Other people don’t care,” said Wilfred, “but mothers are different.” “Some other people don’t care,” answered Caroline softly, fighting hard to keep back a rush of tears. In spite of herself her eyes would focus themselves upon that little round blood-stained hole in the left breast of the jacket. She had not realised before how straight that bullet had gone to the heart of the other wearer. There was something terribly ominous about it. But Wilfred blundered blindly on, unconscious of this emotion or of its cause. He drew from the pocket in his blouse a paper. He sat down at the table, beckoning Caroline as he did so. The girl came closer and looked over his shoulder as he unfolded the paper. “I have written that letter,” he said, “to the General, my father, that is. Here it is. I have got to send it to him in some way. It is all written but the last words and I am not sure about them. I’m not going to say ‘your loving son’ or anything of that kind. This is a man’s letter, a soldier’s letter. I love him, of course, but this is not the time or the place to put that sort of a thing in. I have been telling him——” He happened to glance up as he spoke and discovered to his great surprise that Caroline had turned away from him and was no longer looking at him. “Why, what’s the matter?” he exclaimed. “Nothing, nothing,” answered the girl, forcing herself to face him once more. “I thought you wanted to help me,” he continued. “Oh, yes! I do, I do.” “Well, you can’t help me way off there,” said Wilfred. “Come closer.” He spoke like a soldier already, thought the girl, but she meekly, for her, obeyed the imperious command. He stared at her, as yet unconscious but strangely agitated nevertheless. The silence was soon insupportable, and Caroline herself broke it. “The—the——” she pointed at the trousers, “are they how you wanted them?” “Fine,” replied Wilfred; “they are just perfect. There isn’t a girl in Richmond who could have done them better. Now about the letter. I want your advice on it; what do you think?” “Tell me what you said.” “You want to hear it?” asked Wilfred. “I’ve got to, haven’t I? How could I help you if I didn’t know what it was all about?” “You’re a pretty good girl, Caroline. You will help me, won’t you?” Her hand rested on the table as she bent over him, and he laid his own hand upon it and squeezed it warmly, too warmly thought Caroline, as she slowly drew it away and was sorry she did it the moment she had done so.