"No," I said.
We sat down on a bench and I looked at her.
"You have beautiful hair," I said.
"Do you like it?"
"Very much."
"I was going to cut it all off when he died."
"No."
"I wanted to do something for him.
You see I didn't care about the other thing and he could have had it all.
He could have had anything he wanted if I would have known.
I would have married him or anything.
I know all about it now.
But then he wanted to go to war and I didn't know."
I did not say anything.
"I didn't know about anything then.
I thought it would be worse for him.
I thought perhaps he couldn't stand it and then of course he was killed and that was the end of it."
"I don't know."
"Oh, yes," she said. "That's the end of it."
We looked at Rinaldi talking with the other nurse.
"What is her name?"
"Ferguson.
Helen Ferguson.
Your friend is a doctor, isn't he?"
"Yes.
He's very good."
"That's splendid.
You rarely find any one any good this close to the front.
This is close to the front, isn't it?"
"Quite."
"It's a silly front," she said. "But it's very beautiful.
Are they going to have an offensive?"
"Yes."
"Then we'll have to work.
There's no work now."
"Have you done nursing long?"
"Since the end of 'fifteen.
I started when he did.
I remember having a silly idea he might come to the hospital where I was.
With a sabre cut, I suppose, and a bandage around his head.
Or shot through the shoulder.
Something picturesque."
"This is the picturesque front," I said.
"Yes," she said. "People can't realize what France is like.
If they did, it couldn't all go on.
He didn't have a sabre cut.
They blew him all to bits."
I didn't say anything.
"Do you suppose it will always go on?"
"No."