"My dear sir," I explained gruffly, "a man can’t take command of a battalion if the adjutant neglects to publish the order which appoints him." I felt horribly mean, but this seemed to me to be a case where the dead could most conveniently bear the responsibility. Suddenly Eric rose to his feet. I glanced at him, and flinched, for I knew what was coming. The colour had come back to his face, and his blue eyes were aglow. He was "up in the cloods." He came round to my side of the table, and laid his hands on my shoulders. It was strange to feel the lifeless weight of his artificial arm. I flinched again, and made a testy reference to my comminuted collar-bone. But Eric was not to be denied. He had been exposed to himself as an incompetent and a failure; but what mattered more—solely—to him was that the world did not know about it; Roy and I had saved him from that. All that was grateful in his nature had been roused by that infernal telegram. He sat down beside me and took my hand in his. I felt very ridiculous. "My God, old man," he said, "you saved me! You two saved me from being broke! You, who might have commanded the battalion—and young Roy! Young Roy! After what I had done to him—and—tried to do to him!" "Oh, come!" I said. "You were a bit of a martinet, sometimes—the heavy C.O., and all that—but there’s no need to reproach yourself over Roy." Eric let go my hand—greatly to my relief— and began to walk about the room. Suddenly he turned to me. "Alan, old man," he said, "do you know exactly what I did to Roy? I tried to take his girl away from him!" I looked up. Lord Eskerley had been right, as usual. "You mean—Marjorie?" "Yes—Marjorie! Not once—nor twice—not accidentally—nor casually; but deliberately and continuously! Listen!" He was in the flood-tide of confession now, and I knew that in that mood he was not apt to be reticent. "I made love to her at Craigfoot—in a ’you’re-a-nice-little-girl’ sort of way—while Roy was at Sandhurst. I made love to her in London, when I was on leave and he was in France—took her out to dinner and lunch, and so on—" "Why not? It was up to her to refuse." "She didn’t refuse." "In that case, she must have found your society agreeable." "No, she didn’t! I am pretty vain about myself, Alan; but I could see she didn’t!" "Then why did she accept your invitations?" "I fancy it was because it gave her a chance to talk about the regiment—which meant Roy. Not that she ever mentioned him; but—I see it now! My God, what a cad I was! I let her sit there, while I crabbed him—talked patronisingly of him—belittled the good work he had always done for me and my battalion. Ugh!" "Did you really care for her?" "I was fascinated by her for the time. She is a glorious creature!" "She certainly is."