'I'm afraid I _was_ going to say something like that.'
'Now, are you going to say you won't answer me for fear it will excite
me?'
'Don't talk nonsense,' said Edith. '_I_ take you seriously enough. Don't
worry!'
He looked delighted.
'Thank heaven! Most women treat a wounded man as if he were a sick child
or a lunatic. It's the greatest rot. I'm nearly well.'
Edith looked round for his tonic, but stopped herself.
'Are you going now?' he asked.
'No, Aylmer. I thought of stopping a few minutes, if you don't mind.'
'Shall we talk of something else,' said Aylmer satirically, 'to divert
my thoughts? Hasn't it been lovely weather lately?'
She smiled and sat down again.
'Would you like to know how soon the war will be over?' he went on.
'Oddly enough, I really don't know!'
'Are you going back when you've recovered?' she asked abruptly.
'Of course I'm going back; and I want to go back with your promise.'
Then he looked a little conscience-stricken. 'Dear Edith, I don't want
to rush you. Forgive me.'
They both sat in dead silence for five minutes. He was looking at the
black velvet toque on the fair hair, over the soft eyes.
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