Only the throbbing of the mighty screw and the hiss of the
cleft waves broke the hush.
Out of the hush, Ethel spoke abruptly.
"Do you know, Mr. Weldon, you have never told me what brings you out
here."
He had been sitting, chin on his fists, staring out across the gray,
foam-flecked water. Now he looked up at her in surprise.
"I thought you knew. The war, of course."
"Yes; but where are you going?"
"To somewhere on the firing line. Beyond that I've not the least
idea."
"Where is your regiment now?"
"I haven't any."
She frowned in perplexity.
"I think I don't quite understand."
"I mean I haven't enlisted yet."
"But your commission?" she urged.
"I have no commission, Miss Dent."
"Not--any commission!" she said blankly.
In site of himself, he laughed at her tone.
"Certainly not. I am going as a soldier."
She sat staring at him in thoughtful silence.
"But you are a gentleman," she said slowly at length.
Weldon's mouth twitched at the corners.
"I hope so," he assented.
"Then how can you go as soldier, for I suppose you mean private?"
Dictated by generations-old tradition, the question was eloquent.
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