"I'll try--" the tears were running down her cheeks.

"You wouldn't have me not go, would you?"

She shook her head and sobbed on his shoulder. He soothed her and
presently she sat up. Quite gallantly she agreed that she would stay
with Emily. If he thought she was too young to marry Derry now, she
would wait. If Derry went into it, it might be easier to let him go as
a lover than as a husband--she thought it might be easier. Yes, she
would try to sleep when she went upstairs--and she would remember that
her old Daddy loved her, loved her, and she was to ask God to bless
him--and keep him--when they were absent one from the other--.

She kissed him and clung to him and then went upstairs. She undressed
and said her prayers, put Polly-Ann on her cushion, turned off the
light, and got into bed.

Then she lay in the dark, facing it squarely.

The things she had said to her father were not true. She didn't want
him to go to France. She didn't want Derry to go. She was glad that
Derry's mother had made him promise. She didn't care who called him a
coward. She cared only to keep her own.

There wasn't any sense in it, anyhow. Why should Daddy and Derry be
blown to pieces--or made blind--or not come back at all? Just because
a barbarian had brought his hordes into Belgium? Well, let Belgium
take care of herself--and France.