"You're leaving here to-morrow then?" said Desmond presently.
Barbara nodded
"And going back to your work with the Chief?"
Barbara nodded again.
"It's not good enough," cried Desmond. "This is no job for a girl
like you, Barbara. The strain is too much; the risks are too
great. Besides, there's something I wanted to say..."
Barbara stopped him.
"Don't say it!" she bade him.
"But you don't know what I was going to say!" he protested.
Barbara smiled a little happy smile.
"Barbara..." Desmond began.
Her hand still rested on his shoulder and he put his hand over
hers. For a brief moment she let him have his way.
Then she withdrew her hand.
"Desmond," she said, looking at him with kindly eyes, "we both
have work to do..."
"We have," replied the man somberly, "and mine's at the front!"
The girl shook her head.
"No!" she said. "Henceforward it's where the Chief sends you!"
Desmond set his jaw obstinately.
"I may have been a Secret Service agent by accident," he
answered, "but I'm a soldier by trade. My place is in the
fighting-line!"
"The Secret Service has its fighting-line, too," Barbara replied,
"though the war correspondents don't write about it. It never
gets a mention in despatches, and Victoria Crosses don't come its
way.
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