"Three miles, we threw 'em back, Miss! Not much, three miles, but in the right direction. They asked us to delay 'em. Delay 'em; hell . . . . excuse me, Miss."
"Oh, that's all right," Ruth cried. "Oh, that's fine! Say it again—our way!"
"That's all they asked us; to delay 'em. I was right near Wise"—Wise was the lieutenant colonel we got our orders. We was to get in touch with the Germans and hold up their advance as long as we could; and then retreat to a prepared position.
"'Retreat?' Wise yelled. 'Retreat? Hell! We've just come!' Well, Miss, we got in touch! Oh, we got in touch, all right; touched 'em with bayonets and butts. They couldn't like it. Couldn't quite believe at first; didn't think it was true; so we had to prove it to 'em, you see. Three miles back toward Berlin; not much; but—you admit—in the right direction."
"I admit it," Ruth said; and—the boy was very badly hurt—she kissed him before she climbed back to her seat.
The next day, when she at last allowed herself to rest, she wrote a letter to Gerry. She had no idea where he was; so she addressed him in care of his old squadron. She had no definite notion of their present relations; what he had said, or what she herself had said, during and following their flight back to France, she simply did not know; for during that time she had dreamed extreme, incredible things, which, nevertheless, fastened themselves upon her with such reality that she could not now separate, with any certainty, the false from the true.
