As the days passed, and they came to know one another better, she told him frankly about the small beginnings of her work, and then how Dick’s idea had caught her up and carried her away to where she now was. ‘There was so much to be done, and so much help needed, that at first,’ she admitted, ‘my own little efforts seemed absurd; and then he showed me that if everybody talked like that nothing would ever be accomplished. So I got up and tried. It was something definite and practical. I let my bigger dreams go——’ ‘Well done,’ he interrupted, wondering for a moment what those ‘bigger dreams’ could have been. ‘——and chose the certainty. And I have never regretted it, though sometimes, of course, I am still tempted——’ ‘That was fine of you,’ he said. He realised vaguely that she would gladly, perhaps, have spoken to him of those ‘other dreams,’ but it was not quite clear to him that his sympathy could be of any avail, and he did not know how to offer it either. To ask direct questions of such a woman savoured to his delicate mind of impertinence. ‘There was nothing “fine” about it,’ she laughed, after an imperceptible pause; ‘it was natural, that’s all. I couldn’t help myself really. Human suffering has always called to me very searchingly. _Au fond_, you see, it was almost selfishness.’ He suddenly felt unaccountably small with this slip of a woman at his side, tired, overworked, giving all her best years so gladly away, and even in her ‘holidays’ thinking of her work more than of herself. He noticed, too, the passing flames that lit fires in her eyes and illumined her entire face sometimes when she spoke of her London waifs. Pity and admiration ran together in his thoughts, the latter easily predominating. ‘But you must make the most of your holiday,’ he said presently; ‘you will use up your forces too soon——’ ‘Perhaps,’ she laughed, ‘perhaps. Only I get restless with the feeling that I’m wanted elsewhere. There’s so little time to do anything. The years pass so quickly—after thirty; and if you always wait till you’re “quite fit,” you wait for ever, and nothing gets done.’ Paul turned and looked steadily at her for a moment. A sudden beauty, like a white and shining fire, leaped into her face, flashed about the eyes and mouth, and was gone. Paul never forgot that look to the end of his days. ‘By Jove,’ he said, ‘you _are_ in earnest!’ ‘Not more than others,’ she said simply; ‘not as much as many, even, I’m afraid. A good soldier goes on fighting whether he’s “fit” or not, doesn’t he?’ ‘He ought to,’ said Paul—humbly, for some reason he could hardly explain.