"I shall go up to Scotland to-morrow night--well, of course, it's to-night, I should say--and see her--and--and----" "Yes--well, and----" "Oh, and tell her that it must be all--all over. I shall say that the war will make all the difference, that I must join the army, and that she must consider herself free to marry someone else, and that, as in any case I might never come back, I think it's the best thing for us both that she should consider herself free, and--er--and--and consider herself free," I ended weakly. "Just like that?" asked Dennis, with a twinkle in his eye. "I shall try and put it fairly formally to her," I said, "because, of course, I must appear to be sincere about it. I must try and think out some way of making her imagine I want it broken off for reasons of my own." Dennis laughed softly. "You delicious, egotistical idiot," he said. "You don't really imagine that you could persuade anyone you met for the first time even that you're not in love. By all means do what you think is right, Ron. I wouldn't dissuade you for the world. Tell her that she is free. Tell her why you are setting her free, and I'll be willing to wager my little all that you two ridiculous young people will find yourselves tied tighter together than ever. By all means do your best to be a good little boy, Ronald, and do what you conceive to be your duty." "You needn't pull my leg about it," I said, though somewhat half-heartedly. "I'm not pulling your leg, as you put it," Dennie answered, in a more serious tone. "If ever I saw honesty and truth and love and loyalty looking out of a girl's eyes, that girl is Myra McLeod." "Thank you for that, Den," I answered simply. There was little sentiment between us. Thank heaven, there was something more. "And so you see, you lucky dog, you'll go out to the front, and come back loaded with honours and blushes, and marry the girl of your dreams, and live happy ever after." And Dennis sighed. "Why the sigh?" I asked. "Oh, come now," I added, suddenly remembering. "Fair exchange, you know. You haven't told me what was worrying you." "My dear old fellow, don't be ridiculous, there's nothing worrying me." I pressed him to no purpose. He refused to admit that he had a care in the world, and so we fell to talking of matters connected with the routine of army life, how long we should be before we got to the front, the sport we four should have in our rest time behind the trenches, our determination to stick together at all costs, etc. Suddenly Dennis sat bolt upright. "Gad!" he cried savagely, "if you beggars weren't going, I could stick it. But you three leaving me behind, it's----" "Leaving you behind?" I echoed in astonishment. "But why, old man? Aren't you coming too?" "I hope so," said Dennis bitterly; "I hope so with all my heart, and I shall have a jolly good shot at it. But I know what it will be, worse luck." "But why, Dennis?" I asked again. "I don't understand."