Sidney Vassall, wondering what had become of Linda, wandered about camp
covertly looking for her. The amiable young aide-de-camp had his dull
heartache too, these days. An instinct warned him that the humble
attitude he displayed toward her would never succeed in focussing the
little beauty's attention on himself, but he was unable to change it.
He was the victim of his own amiability.
Coming to the edge of the bank, he met the odd little procession coming
up; Garrod with his wild, blank stare; Jack with his hand twisted in
Garrod's collar, and Linda following at a little distance, pale, angry,
and frightened.
Vassall's jaw dropped. "What's the matter?" he stammered.
Jack let go his hold on Garrod, and scowled at him, angry and
perplexed. "He's mad," he said shortly. "Clean daft!"
Vassall fell back a step. "Easy, for God's sake," he murmured.
"She'll hear you."
"Oh, she knows," Jack said carelessly. "The question is, what are we
to do with him?"
The first command in Vassall's highly artificial code was: "Keep it
from the women!" Turning to Linda with a shaky imitation of his polite
smile, he said: "Mrs. Worsley has been wondering where you were.
You'll find her in the big tent."