He was strangely silent as we sat facing each other in the compartment,
each of us conscious of a hundred things to say, and saying none of
them. The train might start at any moment, and such things as we did say
were trivial irrelevancies. Suddenly he pulled out a pocket-book, and
showed me a photograph.

"My wife and Pat--you've never seen Pat, I think? We christened her
Patricia, you know?"

It was the photograph of a laughing child, with an aureole of curls,
aged, I should say, about two.

"Pat sent me this," the Major said, producing a large woollen comforter.
She had sent it for Daddy to wear during the cold nights with the Field
Ambulance. I handed back the photograph, and B---- studied it intently
for some minutes before replacing it in his pocket-book. Suddenly he
leaned forward in a rather shamefaced way. "I say, old chap, write to my
wife!"

"But, my dear fellow, I've never met her except once. She must have
quite forgotten who I am."

"I know. But write and tell her you saw me off, and that I was at the
top of my form. Merry and bright, you know."

We looked at each other for a moment; and I promised.

There was the loud hoot of a horn and a lurch of the couplings, as
C---- sprang in. I grasped B----'s hand, and jumped on to the footboard