from London. In the ever-shifting panorama of gaily-dressed women and
flannel-clad men, the monotony of which was varied here and there by the
passing of a diplomatist or a Frenchman, scrupulously attired in morning
clothes, were many familiar faces. Caroline and a little group of
friends waved to them from the terrace. Eddy Pelham, in immaculate
white, and a long tennis coat with dark blue edgings, paused to speak to
them on his way to the courts.

"How is the motor business, Eddy?" Dominey asked, with a twinkle in his
eyes.

"So, so! I'm not quite so keen as I was. To tell you the truth," the
young man confided, glancing around and lowering his voice so that no
one should share the momentous information, "I was lucky enough to pick
up a small share in Jere Moore's racing stable at Newmarket, the other
day. I fancy I know a little more about gee-gees than I do about the
inside of motors, what?"

"I should think very possibly that you are right," Dominey assented, as
the young man passed on with a farewell salute.

Terniloff looked after him curiously.

"It is the type of young man, that," he declared, "which we cannot
understand. What would happen to him, in the event of a war? In the
event of his being called upon, say, either to fight or do some work of
national importance for his country?"

"I expect he would do it," Dominey replied. "He would do it pluckily,
whole-heartedly and badly. He is a type of the upper-class young