One result of the war was to precipitate his marriage. Whether he went to Europe, or whether he remained in the Colony and joined the Union forces, now commanded by the Premier since General Beyers' resignation of troops he knew he could never take over with him in his treacherous alliance with the Germans, the question of Brenda's future could not remain unsettled. He took her for a walk and discussed the matter with her. "I can't, you see," he said, "go away and leave you at the cafe. I want to provide for you. It will be an inadequate provision, but it will be an improvement on the cafe. I can't leave you there. I don't like your being there. I've never liked it. It's rather inconsiderate to hurry you like this... Do you mind?" "No. I can be ready as soon as you wish. But if you go to Europe I'll go too. I could put my hand to something to help. At least," she said, smiling, "I could undertake canteen work. I'm qualified for that. You wouldn't object to my doing that--for the war?" "No. I suppose I never imagined you would be satisfied to sit still and look on." He felt for her hand and held it, and they walked on together in the dusky starlight, rather silent and preoccupied, thinking of many things. "This settles any chance of honeymooning," he said presently. "We'll have to have that later. It's rough on you all round." She drew closer to him. "I'm not minding that. Those things don't seem to matter any more. If only you come through!" He squeezed her hand hard, and they were silent again. The possibility of losing him had wrought a considerable change in Brenda's view of things. Her own phrase perhaps best expressed this alteration: "Those things don't seem to matter any more." The sting of bitterness had gone out of her sorrow. Those minor distresses, the jealousy of another's claim, and the knowledge that she did not possess his entire heart, shrunk to inconsiderable dimensions in the face of this greater disaster--before the haunting spectre of possible death for him. The fear of losing him in a sudden and tragic manner made him very precious to her. There was no room in her mind for any but loving thoughts. "What a lot of things have happened," he said presently, "since you and I first mooned about this beach! I remember having a feeling in those days that you had come into my life to some purpose... come to stay. One knows somehow instinctively the people who are going to count." He stooped suddenly and kissed her lips. "Salt kisses," he said... "like the salt kisses I first took from you." He held her chin in his hand and tilted her face upward slightly. "The spray has got into your dear eyes... There were no tears there on that other occasion." She smiled at him and attempted to wink the tears away. "It's only spray... don't heed that. Go on talking... I want to hear you talk. These remembrances... I love to hear them."