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And perhaps then, when she was on her own, and had proved that
she was not a child any longer, Arthur would respect her more, take
more interest in her.
'What do you prophesy?' said Elizabeth suddenly, addressing Arthur
Chicksands, who seemed to be asleep in the grass. 'Will it end--by
next summer?'
'What, the war?' he said, waking up. 'Oh dear, no. Next year will be
the worst of any--the test of us all--especially of you civilians at
home. If we stick it, we shall save ourselves and the world. If we
don't--'
He shrugged his shoulders. His voice was full and deep. It thrilled
the girl sitting in the shade--partly with fear. In three weeks or
so, the speaker would be back in the full inferno of the front, and
because of her father's behaviour she would probably not be able to
see him in the interval. Perhaps she might never see him again.
Perhaps this was the last time. And he would go away without giving
her a thought. Whereas, if she had played her cards differently,
this one last day, he might at least have asked her to write to him.


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