But Phineas had knocked all the dreams out of Jeanne. The British happy-go-lucky ways of marriage are not those of the French _bourgeoisie_, and Jeanne had no notion of British happy-go-lucky ways. Phineas had knocked the dream out of Jeanne by kicking Doggie out of her sphere. And there was a girl in England in Doggie's sphere whom he was to marry. She knew it. A man does not gather his sagacities in order to answer crookedly a direct challenge, unless there is some necessity. Well. She would never see Doggie again. He would pass out of her life. His destiny called him, if he survived the slaughter of the war, to the shadowy girl in England. Yet he had done _that_ for her. For no other woman could he ever in this life do _that_ again. It was past love. Her brain boggled at an elusive spiritual idea. She was very young, flung cleanly trained from the convent into the war's terrific tragedy, wherein maiden romantic fancies were scorched in the tender bud. Only her honest traditions of marriage remained. Of love she knew nothing. She leaped beyond it, seeking, seeking. She would never see him again. There she met the Absolute. But he had done _that_ for her--that which, she knew not why, but she knew--he would do for no other woman. The Splendour of it would be her everlasting possession. She undressed that night, proud, dry-eyed, heroical, and went to bed, and listened to the rhythmic tramp of the sentry across the gateway below her window, and suddenly a lump rose in her throat and she fell to crying miserably. CHAPTER XVII "How are you feeling, Trevor?" "Nicely, thank you, Sister." "Glad to be in Blighty again?" Doggie smiled. "Good old Blighty!" "Leg hurting you?" "A bit, Sister," he replied with a little grimace. "It's bound to be stiff after the long journey, but we'll soon fix it up for you." "I'm sure you will," he said politely.