Allan Miller was eighteen on the first of February. He went into town on the second and came back in khaki.

Uncle Perry and Aunt Ilse burned with pride. Beatrice did, outwardly. When she was around other people she laughed and looked as if she could burst with pride. She wore a Canadian flag pin on her lapel. But it was an act, and nothing more.

"My big brother--my big brother!" she sobbed, holed up in Juliet's bedroom, the only place where she felt she could allow her patriotic façade to fade, and let her true feelings show. "What shall I do without him? We are twins--as much as you and Douglas are. We are only nine months apart, you know. Oh, Juliet, what if he is hurt--maimed--killed? I hate this war, for taking Allan. I hate Canada for asking him to go." Bea ripped the maple pin from her coat and flung it across the room.

"Allan wouldn't want you to think that way, dearest," said Juliet, guiltily. Here was Bea, pouring her heart out to her, and she, Juliet, had been sneaking behind her back with letters to Blair. For months and months--almost a years' worth of months.

"Mother--and Father--won't let me cry about it," Bea wept. "And Allan won't talk to me if he sees I have been crying. He gets so angry."

"We'll get you a cold compress for your eyes," Juliet soothed.

"You're--so--lucky--that Douglas isn't going," said Beatrice between sobs.

"Yes, thank God," said Juliet dully. Douglas, who had been eighteen in September, had gone right into town and to the enlistment office. Juliet had felt cold inside, with terror. But Doug was back the next day--not in khaki. His doctor's exam had revealed that he had a double heartbeat--a weak valve in the chamber of his heart. It would not interfere with his health in anyway, but it rendered him unfit for military service. Doug was depressed by it--he was fit, and healthy--so why shouldn't he help his country? And the worst of it was the no one else could see his defect. He wasn't like old Miller Douglas up at the Glen, who was missing a leg.

"Everyone will think I'm a coward--a slacker," Douglas spit.

"They won't dare," said Juliet. "Or they'll have me to reckon with."

* * *

Juliet went out for a walk, after she finished her latest letter to Blair, to clear her head. It seemed so ridiculous. Allan Miller--a soldier? Douglas upset because he could not go to fight? And then there was Blair. Where was he tonight? When would he come back to her? When had things gotten this complicated--this surreal?

She didn't see Allan until she'd almost tripped over him.

He was sitting propped up against Cousin Jimmy's flat, red tombstone, his long legs stretched in front of him. Juliet stared down at him. How grown up he looked! Why--not like the Allan she knew at all! He seemed taller and broader in uniform, and his hair had been shorn in a way that emphasized the strong line of his jaw. But his face was still freckled as ever, and his eyes were dreamy and kind. Juliet thought that despite everything he looked young and impossibly sweet.

"I've been up at New Moon," he said, not getting up. "Thought I'd stop by and show myself off to Aunt Em and Uncle Ted. Although--" he stood now. "Although it was you I wanted to see, Juliet. Let's go for a ramble through Lofty John's bush, like we used to?"

It was a question and Juliet nodded.

"When--do you--leave?" she asked Allan anxiously.

"Sunday," said Allan. "Take the train to Charlottetown. Then we sail to Halifax--and after that it'll be a week before I'm 'somewhere in France.' Why you want to know? Trying to get rid of me?"

His tone was light but his face serious.

"No--Allan--no!" Juliet cried, wildly. She was remembering all of the times throughout the past months, when, in a love-stupor over Blair, she had wished that Allan would simply disappear. How less complicated everything would be! But now she regretted ever thinking it. Why, Allan couldn't go! This was his home! He belonged here.

"Are you afraid?" she asked him, hiding her face against his shoulder.

"There's only one thing I'm afraid of," he said. "I'm afraid that when I come back you won't be my girl anymore--I'm afraid that you don't love me now. But Juliet, the only thing that would make me truly happy--the only thing that will keep me from dying a thousand daily deaths over there--is the thought that when I come back, you'll be waiting for me. That you'll be my wife." Allan fumbled in his pocket for a moment and drew out a small, velvet-covered box. He handed it unceremoniously to Juliet, who, as one in a dream

opened it, to reveal a tiny diamond ring that winked and glittered in the moonlight. "It isn't much," Allan said gruffly. "But I'll buy you heaps of diamonds one day. I'll build you castles of them! Juliet, say yes."

How easy it would be for her to say yes. How cruel it would be if she didn't! The word was on Juliet's tongue, almost like a physical object. It was the least she could do, to let him think that she would marry him! If he didn't--come back--oh, she could scarcely bear to think it!--at least she would have made him happy. And if he did--she could always explain about Blair then--or, she could learn to be happy with Allan. She loved Blair, and he loved her, but he hadn't asked her--yet--to be his wife. Perhaps he never would ask her.

Juliet shivered--and it became clear to her. She loved Blair. And Blair loved her. "No, Allan," she said, feeling sick. Suddenly, hot tears poured out of her eyes. She made no move to wipe them away--just held out the terrible velvet box for him to take.

Allan nodded. His eyes glimmered and he passed his hand over them and turned his head away. "Allan!" Juliet cried, and sprang forward to embrace him. "Don't hate me, please, don't hate me! I do love you. Love isn't the word. Something bigger than love. I just--can't--love you--that way."

"I couldn't hate you, you fool!" he said. "There is--is there--someone else?"

Juliet's lips parted and the word yes slithered out. She immediately regretted it. It had been such a lovely, dear secret between her and Blair and now it wasn't anymore. But she owed it to Allan to explain. "I love Blair King. I love him. He loves me."

"How could he not?" Allan said. He managed a wry smile.

"It's a secret, Allan," Juliet whispered. "No one knows."

Allan nodded. "I want you to know," he said, opening the little velvet box again. "That no matter what happens--if it doesn't happen between you and--Blair--I'll still--love you. I always will. Juliet, I want you to wear this ring--just as a sign of friendship. Just--in case--you change your mind. You can wear it on your right hand--and if you change your mind switch it over."

"I'll take it, Allan," Juliet said. "But only as a sign of friendship. And it will stay on my right hand, where all good signs of friendship belong."

Allan laughed--well, it was more a bark than a laugh--but his eyes were kind. He took Juliet's slim hand and slid the ring on her finger--then he leaned down and kissed her. It was a chaste kiss--a kiss of parting. Each one's tears fell on the other's cheeks. They broke apart, and Allan walked slowly away.

"Goodbye," he said over his shoulder. "I love you."

Juliet stood alone in the bush with her diamond, that twinkled and flashed in the dark.