voice--"taking on Miss Pitstone like this? It's a great responsibility."

Mrs. Friend made the slightest timid gesture of assent.

"Ah, well, it's just like him. He was devoted to her mother--and for his
friends he'll do anything. But I don't want to make a saint of him. He
can be a dour man when he likes--and he and I fight about a good many
things. I don't think he has much faith in the new England we're all
talking about--though he tries to go with it. Have you?" He turned upon
her suddenly.

Mrs. Friend felt a pang.

"I don't know anything," she said, and he was conscious of the agitation
in her tone. "Since my husband died, I've been so out of everything."

And encouraged by the kind eyes in the plain face, she told her story,
very simply and briefly. In the general clatter and hubbub of the table
no one overheard or noticed.

"H'm--you're stepping out into the world again as one might step out of
a nunnery--after five years. I rather envy you. You'll see things fresh.
Whereas we--who have been through the ferment and the horror--" He broke
off--"I was at the front, you see, for nearly two years--then I got
invalided. So you've hardly realized the war--hardly known there was a
war--not since--since Festubert?"

"It's dreadful!" she said humbly--"I'm afraid I know just nothing
about it."