Dick is six-foot-three, slow in speech, simple as a child and so honest that it hurts. He stoups a little at the shoulders, falls forward at the knees and is as gray as a badger. His expression is worn and kindly, and his lower lip pendulous. You would set him down as stupid, if it were not for the twinkle in his eyes. I don’t think Dick ever kissed a girl; he would not consider it honorable and, in any case, holds too humble an opinion of himself. Since he’s been at the Front he’s managed to get engaged to one of his sister’s school-girl friends. She’s a Brazilian. He knows nothing about her, has never seen her, but like all of us, dreads the loneliness of “going West” without the knowledge that there is one girl who cares. She started the friendship by adding postscripts to his sister’s letters. Then she asked that he would send her a photo of himself. For some time he dodged her request, and afterwards spent weeks of wracking nervousness lest his looks should fall below her standards. Now that he’s engaged, he treats the entire war as though it were being fought for her. He still talks of being afraid. He refuses to lie about his sensations. The more he sees of shell-fire the stronger grows his physical dread. Because of this, he continually sets traps for his cowardice. Tonight he set another trap. I suppose he got to thinking how he’d hate to be an infantryman in a raid, so he decided to go over the top with them. At the present moment he might be in England, but cut his leave short, returned from Blighty and was sent up forward as liaison-officer. It was only yesterday that he surprised me by raising the gas-blanket and pushing in his head. “You!” I exclaimed. “I was picturing you in Piccadilly. What’s brought you back from Blighty six days ahead of time?” He flushed, but his eyes mocked his confusion. “It was devilishly lonely in London,” he said slowly; “there were too many girls.” And then, with an embarrassed smile, “I wanted to go straight because of her.” So because he wanted to go straight for her, he’s out in No Man’s Land tonight, re-testing his worth and taking his life in his hands. There’s a woman at the back of each one of us who inspires most of our daring. With some of us she’s the woman whom we hope to meet, with others the woman whom we’ve met. Whether she lives in the future or the present, we carry on in an effort to be worthy of her. And when it’s ended, will she be worthy? Will she guess that we did it all for her? We shall never tell her; if she loves us, she will guess.