mud to which it naturally belonged. The lady praised its 'poignancy'
and 'grave beauty'. I assented and congratulated myself on my
second escape - for if the question had been put to me I should
have described it as God-forgotten twaddle.

I turned to the girl, who welcomed me with a smile. I had
thought her pretty in her V.A.D. dress, but now, in a filmy black
gown and with her hair no longer hidden by a cap, she was the
most ravishing thing you ever saw. And I observed something else.
There was more than good looks in her young face. Her broad, low
brow and her laughing eyes were amazingly intelligent. She had an
uncanny power of making her eyes go suddenly grave and deep,
like a glittering river narrowing into a pool.

'We shall never be introduced,' she said, 'so let me reveal myself.
I'm Mary Lamington and these are my aunts ... Did you really like
Leprous Souls?'

it was easy enough to talk to her. And oddly enough her mere
presence took away the oppression I had felt in that room. For she
belonged to the out-of-doors and to the old house and to the world
at large. She belonged to the war, and to that happier world
beyond it - a world which must be won by going through the
struggle and not by shirking it, like those two silly ladies.

I could see Wake's eyes often on the girl, while he boomed and
oraculated and the Misses Wymondham prattled. Presently the
conversation seemed to leave the flowery paths of art and to verge
perilously near forbidden topics. He began to abuse our generals in
the field. I could not choose but listen. Miss Lamington's brows