He was afraid of his own young rashness and the entrancement of the dream.

The great lunging chariot of War might plunge over them both.
But never for one moment could he force himself to regret or repent.
Boys in their twenties already lay in their thousands on the fields over there.

And she would far, far rather remember the kind hours and know that they were hidden in his heart for him to remember as he died--if he died! She had lain upon his breast holding him close and fast and she had sobbed hard--hard--but she had said it again and again and over and over when he had asked her.
It was this aspect of her and things akin to it which had risen in his incoherent thoughts when he was manoeuvering to get away from the drawing-room full of chattering people.

He knew himself overwhelmed again by the exquisite compassion because the thing Mrs.Gareth-Lawless had told him had brought back all the silent anguish of impotent childish rebellion the morning when he had been awakened before the day, and during the day when he had thought his small breast would burst as the train rushed on with him--away--away! And Robin had told him the rest--sitting one afternoon in the same chair with him--a roomy, dingy red arm-chair in an old riverside inn where they had managed to meet and had spent a long rainy day together.

She had told him--in a queer little strained voice--about the waiting--and waiting--and waiting.