It meant war, and I was glad of it. I wanted war.

'Good morning,' I said.

'Good morning.'

There was a pause. I took the opportunity to collect my thoughts.

I looked at her curiously. Five years had left their mark on her,
but entirely for the good. She had an air of quiet strength which
I had never noticed in her before. It may have been there in the
old days, but I did not think so. It was, I felt certain, a later
development. She gave the impression of having been through much
and of being sure of herself.

In appearance she had changed amazingly little. She looked as
small and slight and trim as ever she had done. She was a little
paler, I thought, and the Irish eyes were older and a shade
harder; but that was all.

I awoke with a start to the fact that I was staring at her. A
slight flush had crept into her pale cheeks.

'Don't!' she said suddenly, with a little gesture of irritation.

The word and the gesture killed, as if they had been a blow, a
kind of sentimental tenderness which had been stealing over me.

'What are you doing here?' I asked.