CHAPTER X
THE WAR AGAIN
"One is a fool," said Lilly, "to be lachrymose. The thing to do is to get a move on."
Aaron looked up with a glimpse of a smile. The two men were sitting before the fire at the end of a cold, wet April day: Aaron convalescent, somewhat chastened in appearance.
"Ay," he said rather sourly. "A move back to Guilford Street."
"Oh, I meant to tell you," said Lilly. "I was reading an old Baden history. They made a law in 1528—not a law, but a regulation—that: if a man forsakes his wife and children, as now so often happens, the said wife and children are at once to be dispatched after him. I thought that would please you. Does it?"
"Yes," said Aaron briefly.
"They would have arrived the next day, like a forwarded letter."
"I should have had to get a considerable move on, at that rate," grinned Aaron.
"Oh, no. You might quite like them here." But Lilly saw the white frown of determined revulsion on the convalescent's face.
"Wouldn't you?" he asked.
Aaron shook his head.
"No," he said. And it was obvious he objected to the topic. "What are you going to do about your move on?"
"Me!" said Lilly. "I'm going to sail away next week—or steam dirtily away on a tramp called the Maud Allen Wing."
"Where to?"
"Malta."
"Where from?"
119
