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He paused, and glanced again at the slight, khaki-clad figure that leaned against the wall.

After a moment, meeting with no response, he resumed.

“There’s no sense in taking it hard, since there is no help for it. You always knew that it was an absolutely temporary business. Of course, if we could have smashed the Wandis, these chaps would have had a better look-out. But–well, we haven’t smashed them.”

“We hadn’t enough men!” came fiercely from Duncannon.

“True! We couldn’t afford to do things on a large scale. Moreover, it’s a beastly country, as even you must admit. And it isn’t worth a big struggle. Besides, we can’t occupy half the world to prevent the other half playing the deuce with it. Come, Bobby, don’t be a fool, for Heaven’s sake! You’ve been treated as a god too long, and it’s turned your head. Don’t you want to get Home? What about your people? What about—-“

Duncannon turned sharply. His face was drawn and grey.

“I’m not thinking of them,” he said, in a choked voice. “You don’t know what this means to me. You couldn’t know, and I can’t explain. But my mind is made up on one point. Whoever goes–I stay!”

He spoke deliberately, though his breathing was still quick and uneven. His eyes were sternly steadfast.

Herne stared at him in amazement.

“My good fellow,” he said, “you are talking like a lunatic! I think you must have got a touch of sun.”

A faint smile flickered over Duncannon’s set face.

“No, it isn’t that,” he said. “It’s a touch of something else–something you wouldn’t understand.”

“But–heavens above!–you have no choice!” Herne exclaimed, rising abruptly. “You can’t say you’ll do this or that. So long as you wear a sword, you have to obey orders.”

“That’s soon remedied,” said Duncannon, between his teeth.

With a sudden, passionate movement he jerked the weapon from its sheath, held it an instant gleaming between his hands, then stooped and bent it double across his knee.

It snapped with a sharp click, and instantly he straightened himself, the shining fragments in his hands, and looked Montague Herne in the eyes.

“When you go back to the Chief,” he said, speaking very steadily, “you can take him this, and tell him that the British Government can play what damned dirty trick they please upon their allies. But I will take no part in it. I shall stick to my friends.”

And with that he flung the jingling pieces of steel upon the table, took up his helmet, and passed out into the fierce glare of the little parade-ground.

II

“Oh, is it our turn at last? I am glad!”

Betty Derwent raised eyes of absolute honesty to the man who had just come to her side, and laid her hand with obvious alacrity upon his arm.

“You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself,” he said.

“I’m not!” she declared, with vehemence. “It’s perfectly horrid. I hope you’re not wanting to dance, Major Herne? For I want to sit out, and–and get cool, if possible.”

“I want what you want,” said Herne. “Shall we go outside?”

“Yes–no! I really don’t know. I’ve only just come in. I want to get away–right away. Can’t you think of a quiet corner?”

“Certainly,” said Herne, “if it’s all one to you where you go.”

“I should like to run away,” the girl said impetuously, “right away from everybody–except you.”

“That’s very good of you,” said Herne, faintly smiling.

The hand that rested on his arm closed with an agitated pressure.

“Oh, no, it isn’t!” she assured him. “It’s quite selfish. I–I am like that, you know. Where are we going?”

“Upstairs,” said Herne.

“Upstairs!” She glanced at him in surprise, but he offered no explanation. They were already ascending.

But when they had mounted one flight of stairs, and were beginning to mount a second, the girl’s eyes flashed understanding.

“Major Herne, you’re a real friend in need!”

“Think so?” said Herne. “Perhaps–at heart–I am as selfish as you are.”

“Oh, I don’t mind that,” she rejoined impulsively. “You are all selfish, every one of you, but–thank goodness!–you don’t all want the same thing.”