"I don't see why Derry should fight. I don't see why any man should.
I never did believe in getting into other people's fusses."

It was Alma Drew who said that. Nobody took Alma very seriously. She
was too pretty with her shining hair and her sea-green eyes, and her
way of claiming admiration.

Jean had recognised her when she first came in as the girl she had seen
descending from her motor car with Derry Drake on the night of the
Secretary's dinner. Alma again wore the diamond-encrusted comb. She
was in sea-green, which matched her eyes.

"If I were a man," Alma pursued, "I should run away."

There was a rustle of uneasiness about the table. In the morning
papers had been news of Italy--disturbing news; news from
Russia--Kerensky had fled to Moscow--there had been pictures of our men
in gas masks! It wasn't a thing to joke about. Even Alma might go too
far.

Ralph relieved the situation. "Oh, no, you wouldn't run away," he
said; "you don't do yourself justice, Alma. Before you know it you
will be driving a car over there, and picking me up when I fall from
the skies."

"Well, that would be--compensation--." Alma's lashes flashed up and
fluttered down.

But she turned her batteries on Ralph in vain. Jean McKenzie was on