Pushing and splashing is for peace times." "Oh, I understand that!" she cried.
These were the young days.

The jealousies of Departments, the intrigues to pull this man down and put that man up, not because of his capacity or failure, but because he fitted or did not fit the inner politics of the Office, the capture of honours by the stay-at-homes--all the little miseries and horrors that from time immemorial have disfigured the management of wars--they lay in the future.

With millions of people, as with this couple speeding among the uplands, the one thought was--the great test is at hand.
"You go up to London to-night, and it may be a long while before we see you," said Joan.

She brought the car to a halt on the edge of Duncton Hill.

"Look for luck and for memory at the Weald of Sussex," she cried with a little catch in her throat.
Fields and great trees, and here and there the white smoke of a passing train and beyond the Blackdown and the misty slopes of Leith Hill--Hillyard was never to forget it, neither that scene nor the eager face and shining eyes of Joan Whitworth against the blue and gold of the summer afternoon.
"You will remember that you have friends here, who will be glad to hear news of you," she said, and she threw in the clutch and started the car down the hill..