in time.

At that moment someone slipped into the vacant seat on my
right hand. I turned and saw the V.A.D. girl who had brought tea
to Blaikie that afternoon at the hospital.

'He was exempted by his Department,' the lady went on, 'for
he's a Civil Servant, and so he never had a chance of testifying in
court, but no one has done better work for our cause. He is on the
committee of the L.D.A., and questions have been asked about him
in Parliament.'

The man was not quite comfortable at this biography. He glanced
nervously at me and was going to begin some kind of explanation,
when Miss Doria cut him short. 'Remember our rule, Launcelot.
No turgid war controversy within these walls.'

I agreed with her. The war had seemed closely knit to the
Summer landscape for all its peace, and to the noble old chambers
of the Manor. But in that demented modish dining-room it was
shriekingly incongruous.

Then they spoke of other things. Mostly of pictures or common
friends, and a little of books. They paid no heed to me, which was
fortunate, for I know nothing about these matters and didn't
understand half the language. But once Miss Doria tried to bring me in.
They were talking about some Russian novel - a name like Leprous
Souls - and she asked me if I had read it. By a curious chance I had.
It had drifted somehow into our dug-out on the Scarpe, and after
we had all stuck in the second chapter it had disappeared in the