It dawned upon him that neither his spells of illness, nor his distress over his sister Lorna, nor his obsession to see and understand what the young people were doing could hold him wholly excusable for having neglected his comrade.
Their hand-clasp was close, almost fierce, and neither spoke at once.
But they looked intently into each other's faces.

Emotion stormed Lane's heart.

He realized that Blair loved him and that he loved Blair--and that between them was a measureless bond, a something only separation could make tangible.

But little of what they felt came out in their greetings.
"Dare, why the devil don't you can that uniform," demanded Blair, cheerfully.

"People might recognize you've been 'over there.'" "Well, Blair, I expected you'd have a cork leg by this time," said Lane.
"Nothing doing," returned the other.