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McKay also sat up on his steamer chair.
"Oh!" he cried gaily, "h.e.l.lo, Recklow! Where on earth have you been for three days?"
Recklow came into the rose arbour. The blossoms were gone from the vines but it was a fragrant, golden place into which the September sun filtered. He lifted Miss Erith's hand and kissed it gravely.
"How are you?" he inquired.
"Perfectly well, and ready for Paris!" she said smilingly.
Recklow shook hands with McKay.
"You'll want a furlough, too," he remarked. "I'll fix it. How do you feel, McKay?"
"All right. Has anything come out of our report on the Great Secret?"
Recklow seated himself and they listened in strained silence to his careful report. Once Evelyn caught her breath and Recklow paused and turned to look at her.
"There were thousands and thousands of insane down there under the earth," she said pitifully.
"Yes," he nodded.
"Did--did they all die?"
"Are the insane not better dead, Miss Erith?" he asked calmly....
And continued his recital.
That evening there was a full moon over the garden. Recklow lingered with them after dinner for a while, discussing the beginning of the end of all things Hunnish. For Foch was striking at last; Pers.h.i.+ng was moving; Haig, Gouraud, Petain, all were marching toward the field of Armageddon. They conversed for a while, the men smoking.
Then Recklow went away across the dewy gra.s.s, followed by two frisky and factious cats.
But when McKay took Miss Erith's head into his arms the girl's eyes were wet.
"The way they died down there--I can't help it, Kay," she faltered.
"Oh, Kay, Kay, you must love me enough to make me forget--forget--"
And she clasped his neck tightly in both her arms.
