"Sure she does. We've always cared. Don't you remember how Margie and I and Dal and you used to go to school together? And come home together? And play on Saturdays?... Ever since then!... But lately Margie and I are--we got--pretty badly mixed up." "Yes, I remember those days," replied Lane, dreamily, and suddenly he recalled Dal's dark eyes, somehow haunting. He had to make an effort to get back to the issue at hand. "If Margie loves you--why it's all right. Go back to work and marry her." "Lane, it can't be all right. Mrs. Maynard has handed me the mitt," replied Holt, bitterly. "And Margie hasn't the courage to run off with me.... Her mother is throwing Margie at Swann--because he's rich." "Oh Lord, no--Holt--you can't mean _it_!" exclaimed Lane, aghast. "I'll say I do mean it. I _know_ it," returned Holt, moodily. "So I let go--fell into the dumps--didn't care a d---- what became of me." Lane was genuinely shocked. What a tangle he had fallen upon! Once again there seemed to confront him a colossal Juggernaut, a moving, crushing, intangible thing, beyond his power to cope with. "Now, what can I do?" queried Holt, in sudden hope his friend might see a way out. Despairingly, Lane racked his brain for some word of advice or assurance, if not of solution. But he found none. Then his spirit mounted, and with it passion. "Holt, don't be a miserable coward," he began, in fierce scorn. "You're a soldier, man, and you've got your life to _live_!... The sun will rise--the days will be long and pleasant--you can work--_do_ something. You can fish the streams in summer and climb the hills in autumn. You can enjoy. Bah! don't tell me one shallow girl means the world. If Margie hasn't courage enough to run off and marry you--_let her go!_ But you can never tell. Maybe Margie will stick to you. I'll help you. Margie and I have always been friends and I'll try to influence her. Then think of your mother and sister. Work for _them_. Forget yourself--your little, miserable, selfish desires.... My God, boy, but it's a strange life the war's left us to face. I _hate_ it. So do you hate it. Swann and Mackay giving nothing and getting all!... So it looks.... But it's false--false. God did not intend men to live solely for their bodies. A balance _must_ be struck. They have _got_ to pay. Their time will come.... As for you, the harder this job is the fiercer you should be. I've got to die, Holt. But if I could live I'd show these slackers, these fickle wild girls, what they're doing.... You can do it, Holt. It's the greatest part any man could be called upon to play. It will prove the difference between you and them...." Holt Dalrymple crushed Lane's hand in both his own. On his face was a glow--his dark eyes flashed: "Lane--that'll be about all," he burst out with a kind of breathlessness. Then his head high, he stalked out.