of a popular waltz. Olive turned a way with a little shiver.

"You think I'm brutal, dear," Conyers went on, as he patted her hand.
"Remember, I've seen men killed--that's what makes the difference,
Olive. Yes, I am different! We are all different, we who've tackled
the job. Thomson's different. Your young man at luncheon,
Geraldine--what's his name?--Granet--he's different. There's
something big and serious grown up inside us, and the brute is
looking out. It has to be. I'll come in later, Olive. Tell the mater
I shall be home to dinner, Geraldine. The governor's waiting down at
the Admiralty for me. Good-bye, girls!"

He waved his hand and strode down towards the corner of the Square.
Both girls watched him for a few moments. His shoulders were as
square as ever but something had gone from the springiness of his
gait. There was nothing left of the sailor's jaunty swagger.

"They are all like that," Geraldine whispered "when they've been face
to face with the real thing. And we are only women, Olive."



CHAPTER IV

Surgeon-Major Thomson had apparently forgotten his appointment to
view camp bedsteads, for, a few minutes after he had left Geraldine
and her brother, his taxicab set him down before a sombre-looking
house in Adelphi Terrace. He passed through the open doorway, up two
flights of stairs, drew a key of somewhat peculiar shape from his
pocket and opened a door in front of him. He found himself in a very