I brought him into the
reception room, left him for two minutes until I made some arrangements as
to work. When I returned he was in a faint, from which it took some time to
rouse him. His convalescent camp was in the country, and he had trudged
some five miles of muddy road in the rain in his endeavor to reach a
railway station with the ultimate object in view of visiting me.
We saw each other frequently from this time. My dear friend, Amy Naylor,
jokingly warned me: "Be careful, Bebe, you are playing with fire." I
laughed. I had other ideas, but nevertheless her words made me think. I
found out that I, for one, was not playing. It remained to find out whether
the other party to the game believed it a pastime, or something of more
moment.
Soon there came word that certain of the disabled men were to be returned
to Canada for discharge. Private Peat was among them. He had word that he
would soon receive a commission, though he would not again be fit for
active service.
Without one word spoken, it came to be understood between us that it would
only be a matter of time before I would go to Canada to join him.
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