Obviously, I told her, he would live to fight another day.

She was of opinion that he had done enough fighting already.

If he went on much longer, the poor boy would get quite tired out, to say nothing of the danger of being wounded again.

The King ought to let him rest on his laurels and make others who hadn't worked a quarter as hard do the remainder of the war.
"Perhaps," I said light-heartedly, "Leonard will drop the hint when he writes to thank the King for the nice cross." She said that I was laughing at her, and rang off in the best of spirits.
In the evening came Betty, inviting herself to dinner.

She had been on night duty at the hospital, and I had not seen her for some days.