His greeting with the invalid was, for Dudley, a little boisterous -
the result of a hint from Ethel. He would probably never have had time
to see for himself that such a man as Basil Hayward would hate a
pitying air or invalid manner, but he was sympathetic enough to respond
quickly to a suggestion that the latest cricket or football news, gaily
imparted, was far more pleasing to the invalid than a sympathetic
inquiry after his health.

For Basil Hayward, sufferer and martyr, was prouder of his near
relationship to a celebrated international cricketer than he would ever
had been of his own sublime courage had it been lauded to the skies.
Life had left him little enough, but "give me the power still to glory
in every manly and athletic achievement of my countrymen," was his
unspoken request.

So they discussed the latest sporting news of the world, and then had a
great argument on a plan of Dudley's for a competition for a
grand-stand and pavilion on a celebrated aviation ground, while they
waited for Ethel.

The small flat had only one sitting-room, and while they talked Doris
flitted gracefully about, putting the finishing touches to the table.
Afterwards she sat on a low chair under the lamp, so that the light
fell full on her pretty hair, while she bowed her head with unwonted
industry over a piece of sewing.

Occasionally she glanced up at the two men, meeting Dudley's eyes with
a pretty confiding look that only added to her charm.

"Ethel is so late. I wonder if we had better wait," she said at last.