Free The Traitor by Sydney Horler Page A

caught the girl.
    â€œHallo, Rosemary!” he said abstractedly. “You’re looking fit.”
    â€œIt’s more than I feel.”
    â€œWhy, what’s the matter?”
    â€œOh, nothing.” She turned away, fiddling with the pages of a magazine.
    Mrs. Clinton gently disengaged her boy’s arms.
    â€œNow I must rush away to see about things, dear,” she said. “I’ll leave you with Rosemary.”
    After the door had closed behind her, the boy seemed ill at ease.
    â€œIf you would prefer me to clear out—don’t be afraid of saying so, Bobby.” She faced him resolutely.
    â€œRot! Why do you say a thing like that?”
    â€œWhy do I say it?” she returned. “Why, my dear, dear fool, because you don’t seem to care a damn whether I’m alive or not, and I’m—”
    â€œRosemary!”
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œRosemary, look at me. You know that’s not true, don’t you?”
    Her eyes shone, but her voice remained accusing.
    â€œIf I weren’t certain in my own mind it’s true, I shouldn’t have said it. Have you given me any reason lately to think otherwise? Take your letters—all about your mouldy duty—and then, what about this leave? I’d planned so many things.…Oh, Bobby! It would be far better for you to tell me straight out that you don’t care a damn.”
    â€œBut I do care—I care a lot.” His voice was low, but it held a note of pain.
    â€œYou do care?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThen why.…?”
    â€œLook here, Rosemary,” he said, taking her hand, “you know I always like to be frank, don’t you?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWell, I’m going to be frank now. I believe in frankness, because I don’t think that there can ever be any question of palship, especially between a man and a woman, unless both are frank with each other. I know your—well, I know how you feel about me; and it makes me very proud.”
    â€œProud!” she interjected. “I just want you to throw your arms round me, hug me like the devil and kiss me like hell. Proud!”
    â€œWait a minute,” he cautioned; “just listen to what I’ve got to say. Oh, don’t think I don’t want to kiss you, darling.”
    â€œSay that again, Bobby,” she pleaded.
    â€œSay what again?”
    â€œCall me ‘darling’ again.”
    Her face was so close to his that by reaching out a few inches he could have kissed her mouth. But he kept control of himself for a little while longer.
    â€œI couldn’t put this very well in a letter—it would have seemed a sort of cowardly thing to do. I had to tell it to you face to face.”
    â€œTell me what?”
    â€œThat—well, that we’d just better be pals, Rosemary. You see, my dear,” he went on in a voice that carried conviction, “I shall never have anything but my pay—and what’s the pay of an Army officer?”
    â€œI’ve got plenty—or shall have once I’m married.”
    He shook his head.
    â€œIt wouldn’t do, darling. I couldn’t live on my wife’s money. That’s why—well, I haven’t been letting myself go in my letters. Oh, my dear, tell me you understand.”
    Although only twenty-four, he looked in that moment at least ten years older. His speech was that of a middle-aged man. The girl looked at him resolutely.
    â€œYou believe in frankness, don’t you, Bobby?”
    â€œYes—of course.”
    â€œThen be frank with me now. Answer me one question truthfully. Will you promise?”
    â€œYes, but—”
    â€œNever mind. I’ve only got one thing to ask you, and that is: Do you love me, Bobby?”
    â€œMy dear, I worship you.” The words were out before he could check them.
    â€œThen, you blasted fool, what else matters?”
    The next moment they were in each