IX

"Rather strange, isn't it?" said Miss Delmege in tones of weak

despondency. "If it hadn't been for this wretched flu, _I_ should have

been going out to Plessing every day with the work, I suppose, as Gracie

is doing now."

"Yes, I suppose you would," agreed Miss Henderson blankly.

She sat on the foot of the bed, which was surrounded by a perfect

wilderness of screens.

Miss Delmege reclined against two pillows, screwed against her back at

an uncomfortable-looking angle. The room was not warmed, and the invalid

wore a small flannel dressing-jacket, rather soiled and very much

crumpled, a loosely knitted woolly jersey of dingy appearance and an

ugly mustard colour, and over everything else an old quilted pink

dressing-gown, with a cotton-wool-like substance bursting from the cuffs

and elbows. Her hair was pinned up carelessly, and her expression was a

much dejected one.

Miss Henderson was knitting in a spasmodic way, and stopping every now

and then to blow her nose violently. She had several times during the

afternoon ejaculated vehemently that a cold wasn't flu, she was thankful

to say.

"It's probably the beginning of it, though," Miss Delmege replied

pessimistically.

"You're hipped, Delmege, that's what you are--regularly hipped. Now,

don't you think it would do you good to come downstairs for tea? There's

a fire in the sitting-room."

"Well, I don't mind if I do. It'll seem quite peculiar to be downstairs

again. Fancy, I've been up here five whole days! And I'm really not a

person to give way, as a rule. At least, not so far as I know, I'm not."

"It's nearly four now. Look here, I'll put a kettle on, and you can have

some hot water."

"Thanks, dear," said Miss Delmege graciously, "but don't bother. My

hot-water bottle is still quite warm. I can use that."

"All right, then, I'll leave you. Ta-ta! You'll find me in the

sitting-room. Sure you don't want any help?"

"No, thanks. I shall be quite all right. I only hope you won't be in bed

yourself tomorrow, dear."

"No fear!" defiantly said Miss Henderson, at the same time sneezing

loudly.

She went away before Miss Delmege had time to utter any further

prognostications.

In the sitting-room she busied herself in pushing a creaking wicker

arm-chair close to the fire--which for once was a roaring one, owing to

the now convalescent Mrs. Potter, who had been crouching over it with a

novel all day--lit the gas, and turned it up until it flared upwards

with a steady, hissing noise; said "Excuse me; do you mind?" to Mrs.

Potter; shut down the small crack of open window, and drew the curtains.

"Delmege is coming down, and we'd better have the room warm," she

explained. "She's just out of bed."

By the time Miss Delmege, now wearing her mustard-coloured jersey over a

thick stuff dress, had tottered downstairs, the room was indeed warm.

"Now, this," said Mrs. Bullivant cheerfully, when she came in to see how

many of her charges wanted tea--"now this is what I call really cosy."

She looked ill, and very tired, herself. The general servant had given

notice because of the number of trays that she had been required to

carry upstairs of late, and had left the day before, and the cook was

disobliging and would do nothing beyond her own immediate duties. Mrs.

Bullivant was very much afraid of her, and did most of the work herself.

She had written to the Depôt in accordance with the official Hostel

regulations, stating that a servant was required there for general

housework; but no answer had come authorizing her to engage one, and

Miss Marsh had explained to her that in Miss Vivian's absence such

trifling questions must naturally expect to be overlooked or set aside

for the time being. So little Mrs. Bullivant staggered up from the

basement bearing a tray that seemed very large and heavy, and put it on

the table in the sitting-room, very close to the fire, with a triumphant

gasp.

"There! and it's a beautiful fire for toast. None of the munition girls

are coming in for tea, are they?"

"Hope not," said Miss Henderson briefly. "I _ought_ to be at the office

now. I said I'd be back at five, but I shouldn't have had the afternoon

off at all if Miss Vivian had been there."

Miss Delmege drew herself up. "Miss Vivian never refuses a reasonable

amount of leave, that I'm aware of," she said stiffly.

"Oh, I mean we're slacker without her. There's less to do, that's all."

"Well, Grace Jones will be back presently, and I suppose she'll have

work for all of us, as usual. I wonder how Miss Vivian is," said Mrs.

Potter.

"And her father."

"Grace will be able to tell us," said Miss Delmege, not without a tinge

of acrimony in her voice. "It does seem so quaint, her going to and from

Plessing in Miss Vivian's car, like this, every day. It somehow makes me

howl with laughter."

She gave a faint, embittered snigger, and Miss Henderson and Mrs. Potter

exchanged glances.

"I hear the car now," said Mrs. Bullivant. "She'll be cold. I'll get

another cup, and give her some tea before she goes over to the office. I

do hope she's got Miss Vivian's authority for me to find a new servant."

They heard her outside in the hall, making inquiry, and Grace's voice

answering in tones of congratulation.

"Yes, it's quite all right. I asked Miss Vivian most particularly, and

told her what a lot of work there was, and she said, Get some one as

soon as you could. I came here before going to the office so as to tell

you at once."

"Well, that _was_ nice of you, dear, and now you shall have a nice cup

of hot tea before you go out again. Just a minute."

"I'll fetch it, Mrs. Bullivant. Don't you bother."

"It's all right, dear, only a cup and saucer wanted; the rest is all

ready."

In a few minutes Grace came into the sitting-room carefully carrying the

cup and saucer.

When she saw Miss Delmege she said in a pleased way: "Oh, I'm so glad

you're better. Miss Vivian asked after you. She was up herself this

afternoon, and looking much better."

"And how's her father?"

"They are much happier about him since he recovered consciousness. He

can talk almost quite well, and Dr. Prince is quite satisfied about him.

And they've got a nurse at last. You know, they couldn't get one for

love or money; none of the London places had any to spare."

"I should have thought they could get one from one of the Questerham

hospitals."

"I think Lady Vivian meant to, if everything else failed, but Miss

Vivian didn't think it a very good plan; she was afraid the hospitals

couldn't spare any one, I suppose, and, anyhow, most of the people there

are only V.A.D.'s."

"And is there any hope of seeing her back at the office?" asked Mrs.

Potter, rather faintly.

"I don't know," replied Grace thoughtfully. "You see, poor Sir Piers may

remain at this stage indefinitely, or may have another stroke any time.

They don't really know...."

"And Miss Vivian goes on with the work just the same!" ejaculated Miss

Henderson. "She really is a marvel."

"I'm sure she'd come to the office if it wasn't for poor Lady Vivian,"

said Miss Delmege. "But I know her mother depends on her altogether. I

don't suppose she could leave her, not as things are now."

Miss Delmege's assumption of an intimate and superior knowledge of the

_ménage_ at Plessing was received in silence. Miss Henderson, indeed,

glancing sharply at Grace, saw the merest quiver of surprise pass across

her face at the assertion; but reflected charitably that, after all,

Delmege had had a pretty sharp go of flu, and probably wasn't feeling up

to the mark yet. Her mis-statements, however irritating, had better be

left unchallenged.

"Do you ever see anything of Lady Vivian when you're at Plessing?" Miss

Delmege inquired benevolently of Grace, but the benevolence faded from

her expression when Miss Jones replied, with more enthusiasm than usual

in her voice, that she always had lunch with Lady Vivian, and sometimes

went round the garden with her before going up to Miss Vivian's room for

the afternoon's work.

"Dear me! I shouldn't have thought she'd have much time for going round

the garden. But she's not thoroughgoing, like Miss Vivian is, of course.

It's quite a different sort of nature, I fancy. Strange, too, being

mother and daughter."

Miss Henderson decided rapidly within herself that, influenza or no,

Delmege was making herself unbearable.

"You're getting tired with sitting up, aren't you, dear?" she inquired

crisply.

There was a moment's silence, and then Miss Delmege said in pinched

accents: "Who is it you're referring to, dear? Me, by any chance?"

Grace knew the state of tension to which those aloof and refined tones

were the prelude, and exclaimed hurriedly that she must go.

She did not want to hear Miss Henderson and Miss Delmege having "words,"

or to listen while Miss Delmege talked with genteel familiarity of Sir

Piers and Lady Vivian.

Pulling on her thick uniform coat, she went out, and slowly crossed the

street.

She was thinking of Lady Vivian, who had roused in her an enthusiasm

which she could never feel for Char, and who had talked to her so

frankly and warmly, as though to a contemporary, that afternoon in the

garden at Plessing. For all her quality of matter-of-factness, there was

a certain humble-mindedness about Miss Jones, which made it a matter of

surprise to her when she found herself on the borders of friendship with

the woman whom she thought so courageous and so lovable.

She hoped that Miss Vivian would require her to go out to Plessing every

day for a long while; then reflected that the privilege rightly belonged

to Miss Delmege, who would certainly avail herself of it at the earliest

possible moment.

She knew, and calmly accepted, that Miss Delmege's services would

certainly be preferred to her own by the Director of the Midland Supply

Depôt; but she did not think that Lady Vivian proffered her liking or

her confidence lightly, and felt a certain placid security that their

unofficial intercourse would somehow or other continue. Then, with

characteristic thoroughness, she dismissed the question from her mind

and went into the office and to her work.

That evening Grace went to the Canteen. Only Miss Marsh, Miss Anthony,

and Miss Henderson accompanied her.

"We shall have to work like blacks to make up for the absentees,"

groaned Tony.

"Never mind; it isn't quite so cold tonight. Isn't the moon nice?"

"Lovely. Just the night for Zeppelins."

Miss Henderson spoke from the pessimism of approaching influenza, but it

happened that she was right. The first air raid over Questerham took

place that night.

The work was rapidly lessening towards eleven o'clock, when Captain

Trevellyan came into the hall. He stood for an instant gazing round him

reflectively, then said to Grace: "Who is in command here?"

"Mrs. Willoughby, when Miss Vivian isn't here."

"I see, thank you."

Looking very doubtful, he sought Lesbia, who was preparing to discard

her overall and to take her departure with the Pekinese.

"Johnnie! How _too_ sweet of you to turn up just in time to see me home!

My Lewis hates my going back alone in the dark; we've very nearly

quarrelled over it already."

"The fact is," said Trevellyan, wondering if Mrs. Willoughby were the

sort of person to have hysterics, "that there's been a telephone warning

to say an air-raid is on, just over Staningham. They're heading this

way, so we may hear a gun or two, you know; some of our machines are in

pursuit."

He gazed anxiously at Lesbia, whom he characteristically supposed to be

about either to burst into tears or to threaten a fainting fit.

The ideas of Captain Trevellyan were perhaps not much more advanced than

those of Lady Vivian's secretary.

But Mrs. Willoughby discounted his solicitude, at least on one score, in

a moment.

"Zepps!" she screamed excitedly. "How too thrilling! Can I possibly get

on to the roof, I wonder? I've never seen one yet."

"Stop!" said the astonished Trevellyan. "You don't realize. They'll be

over here in a few minutes, and our machines may be firing at them,

besides the guns on the hill; there'll be shrapnel falling."

Mrs. Willoughby tore off her overall and snatched up Puff.

"I must, must see it all!" she declared wildly. "Have you got a pair of

field-glasses?"

Trevellyan restrained her forcibly from dashing to the door.

"Mrs. Willoughby, we've got to consider that there are a number of

people here, and that they are all in a certain amount of danger--not so

much from bombs, though goodness knows they may very well drop one, but

from our own shrapnel. Is there a basement?"

"You can't send us to the cellar? My dear boy, I, for one, refuse to go.

We're not children, and we're not afraid. We're Englishwomen!"

On this superb sentiment Mrs. Willoughby swept into the middle of the

hall and announced in penetrating accents that a Zepp raid was on, and

had any one got a pair of field-glasses?

There was a momentary outbreak of exclamations all around, and then

Captain Trevellyan raised his voice: "Please keep away from the windows.

There may be broken glass about."

"Is it dangerous? What are we to do?" gasped Tony, next him. She was

rather white.

At the same moment the very distant but unmistakable reverberation of

guns became audible.

Trevellyan took instant advantage of the sudden cessation of sound in

the room.

"If there is a basement, it would be as well for everybody to go down

there, please--just for precaution's sake. And then I'm going to put out

these lights." His hand was on the nearest gas-jet as he spoke.

"Nothing will induce me to _stir_ while there's any danger. I can answer

for every woman here!" cried Lesbia, with a gesture of noble defiance.

Grace Jones came into the middle of the room.

"Hadn't we better obey orders?" she asked gently. "There is a basement

beyond the kitchen."

She held out her hand to Miss Anthony, and they went through the door

into the kitchen.

After an instant's hesitation, the other women followed. Trevellyan saw

that they had lit a candle, and in a moment he heard them beginning to

talk quietly amongst themselves.

A few soldiers in the hall had congregated together, and were talking

and laughing. The others made a dash for the door as the firing grew

louder, and simultaneously exclaimed: "Here they are!"

The sound of the huge machines far overhead was unmistakable. They could

see the shrapnel bursting, and the guns on the hill boomed heavily and

intermittently.

"Look!" shrieked Lesbia, almost hurling herself out of the door.

"They've got one of them! I can see it blazing!"

Far away, a red spot began to glow, then suddenly revealed the

cigar-shaped form in flames, dropping downwards.

"They've got it!" echoed Trevellyan. "Look! it's coming down. Miles

away, by this time. I wonder how many of ours are giving chase."

The air was full of whirring, buzzing wings, and very far away a red

light in the sky seemed to tell of fire.

Occasional sparks and flashes told of the bursting of shrapnel, but the

sounds were dying away rapidly.

"It's over, and, by Jove, we've got him!" shouted Trevellyan, dashing

back into the kitchen. Every one was talking at once, Mrs. Willoughby's

voice dominating the rest.

"I saw the whole thing _too_ perfectly! At _least_ five of the brutes,

and two, if not three, of them in flames! I saw them with my own eyes!"

she proclaimed, with more spirit than exactitude. "And where are those

poor creatures hiding like rats in the cellar?"

"The noise was awful!" said Tony, shuddering. "It felt as though it were

right over our heads. But," she added valiantly, "I do wish we'd seen it

all!"

Trevellyan turned to her apologetically. "I'm so sorry. But I really

couldn't help it. They sent me down on purpose to see that this place

was warned. It was really perfectly splendid of you to go down like that

and miss all the fun."

"I was very frightened," she told him honestly, "though I do _awfully_

wish I'd seen it. They must have had a splendid view from the Hostel at

the top of the street."

"There was a splendid view from _here_," said Lesbia cuttingly. "_I_ saw

everything there was to be seen."

Trevellyan was looking for Miss Jones.

"Thank you so much for giving them the lead you did," he said to her

gratefully. "It was very good of you. I felt such a brute for asking you

to do it; but there really is danger, you know, especially from the

windows, if shrapnel shatters the glass."

"Oh yes, I know. I wonder," said Grace thoughtfully, "whether they heard

it much at Plessing."

"I know. I was thinking of that all the time. Not that she'd be nervous,

you know, except on his account."

"It would be dreadful for Sir Piers. Oh, I do hope they didn't hear much

of it," said Grace.

One of the men approached her. "If you please, Sister, could you come

down into the kitching 'alf a minute?"

Grace went.

Trevellyan watched them all disperse, and escorted Mrs. Willoughby to

her tram, wondering if he ought not to see her home.

But Lesbia refused all escort, declaring gallantly that _she_ did not

know the meaning of fear, and, anyway, Puffles would protect his missus

from any more dreadful, wicked Zepps.

He left her entertaining her tram conductress with a spirited account of

all that she had seen, and much that she had not seen, of the raid.

As he turned down Pollard Street again, a soldier with his hand bound up

lurched out of the open door of the deserted Canteen.

"Is there any one in there to shut the place up?" Trevellyan asked him.

"One of the ladies is still in there, sir. Beg pardon, sir; she's a bit

upset like."

Trevellyan thought of little Miss Anthony, who had owned, with a white

face, how much the sound of the guns had frightened her.

He went into the hall. It was dark, but there was a light in the

kitchen.

"Who's there?" said John.

"I am. It's all right," replied an enfeebled voice; and he went into the

kitchen.

Grace Jones was half leaning and half sitting against the sink, her

small face haggard, her hands clutching the only support within reach,

the wooden top of a roller-towel.

"I'm afraid you're ill," exclaimed Trevellyan, looking desperately round

him for a chair.

"It's all right; please don't wait."

"But it's over now. They brought the brute down. It's miles away by this

time."

He multiplied his reassurances.

"No, no; it's not that," gasped Miss Jones, looking whiter than ever.

"There were certainly no casualties over here. We should have seen signs

of fire somewhere if they'd dropped a bomb."

"It's _not_ that!" Grace told him desperately.

Trevellyan gazed at her helplessly, and repeated in an obtuse manner:

"It's all over now--absolutely safe."

Grace gazed back at him with a wan smile.

"Would you mind going?" she asked him feebly. "I shall be all right in a

minute. It's very tiresome, but the sight of--of blood always upsets me

like this, and that man had cut his finger rather badly, and I had to do

it up. It's only--that."

She put her hands up to her damp forehead as though the effort of speech

had brought back the sensation of nausea.

"You're going to faint!" exclaimed Trevellyan. "Let me get some water

for you."

"No, I'm not. _Oh, do go_!"

"I can't leave you like this," protested the bewildered John.

Grace staggered to her feet, and stood holding on to the edge of the

sink.

"I'm afraid--I'm only going to be sick," she said with difficulty.

Ten minutes later they locked up the Canteen and went up Pollard Street.

"You see, it had nothing to do with the raid," Grace told him gently.

"It was just that poor man bleeding. I've always been like that; it's

the only way I'm delicate, because I'm never ill, and I don't ever have

nerves. But it is very tiresome. That's why I couldn't go and work in a

hospital. I did clerical work in the hospital at home for a little

while, but it wasn't any good."

"Bad luck!"

"It is, rather. I hate anybody's knowing about it; that's why I said I'd

stay behind and lock up. I knew it was going to happen, and I didn't

want any one to be there."

"I'm sorry. I thought it was the raid that had upset you, and that you

might be going to faint."

"Nothing so romantic," said Miss Jones regretfully.

But her regrets were as nothing to those of the Hostel when they learnt

what had happened.

It was impossible to conceal it from them, since the window of the

ground-floor bedroom had been open, and Mrs. Potter and Miss Marsh,

leaning from it, and listening eagerly, had heard every word of Captain

Trevellyan's final discourse to Miss Jones, and her repeated assurances

of being now completely restored.

They flew into the hall to meet her.

"Gracie dear, what _has_ happened to you? Tony was in such a state when

she found you hadn't come in with her and the others."

"Was it that beastly raid upset you?"

Grace once more repudiated the raid with as much energy as she could

muster.

"You look as white as a sheet, dear! Come into the sitting-room."

Every one was in the sitting-room, including those first back from the

Canteen, and the pseudo-invalids who, having been in bed when the raid

began, felt that only tea could enable them to face the night, and had

hurried down in search of it.

"Oh, Gracie, there you are! I was just going back to see what had become

of you," said Tony.

"Miss Vivian's cousin brought her home!" giggled Mrs. Potter. "You know,

the Staff Officer one. She's been awfully upset, poor Grace! Turned

quite faint, didn't you, dear?"

"But you were so brave!" cried Tony, aghast. "You were all right all the

time the raid was on. You didn't mind a bit!"

"Came over you afterwards, I expect, didn't it?" said Miss Delmege

kindly. "It's often the case. I'm always perfectly cool myself when

anything happens--I was tonight--but I generally suffer for it

afterwards. Reaction, I suppose. When I came downstairs after it was all

over I was simply shaking, wasn't I, Mrs. Bullivant?"

"Now, it's a funny thing," remarked Miss Henderson, without giving any

one time to dwell upon Miss Delmege's personal reminiscences--"it's a

funny thing, but I simply didn't feel the least bit of fear. Not for

myself, you know. I just thought, well, I hope mother doesn't see any of

this--she's got a bit of a heart, you know--but I didn't seem to feel a

bit as though I was in any kind of danger myself. Not a bit."

"Now, just sit down, child, and drink up this tea," said Mrs. Bullivant

to Grace. "You've not a scrap of colour in your face."

"I'm really all right now, thank you very much," Grace told her as she

took the tea gratefully. "And it wasn't anything to do with the raid."

Everybody looked rather disappointed.

"Aren't you well, then, dear? I do hope it isn't another case of

influenza."

"I bet I know!" suddenly cried Tony. "It was doing up that man's hand

upset you, wasn't it? He cut himself somehow in the excitement and was

bleeding like a fountain, poor fellow! I thought you looked rather

squeamish while you were doing it, poor thing! but I never thought of

its bowling you over like this. Are you one of those people who faint at

the sight of blood?"

"I didn't faint," said Grace mildly.

"Jolly near it, I expect, judging by your face now," said Tony

critically. "Poor old dear!"

"Did Miss Vivian's cousin come back to find you?" asked Miss Delmege

sharply.

"He came into the kitchen while I was still there, and afterwards he

helped me to lock up."

"Afterwards?"

A tinge of colour crept into Miss Jones's face.

"I'm afraid you won't think I rose to the occasion _at all_," she said

deprecatingly. "It always does make me rather ill to see blood, though I

know it's idiotic, and it was the soldier's hand, not the air-raid a

bit, I didn't mind that at all."

"What happened? Were you hysterical?" demanded Miss Delmege, with an

inexplicable touch of umbrage in her refined little voice.

"Certainly not," said Grace emphatically. "If you really want to know, I

was just sick over the sink."

Miss Jones's damaging revelation horrified the Hostel, no less than the

crude manner of its avowal.

"Well," said Miss Henderson, "you really are the limit, Gracie--and a

bit over."

"Poor child!" said Mrs. Bullivant kindly. "How dreadful for you! Miss

Vivian's cousin and all, too! But, still, it was better than an absolute

stranger, perhaps."

"I don't see how you're ever going to face him again, though--really I

don't," giggled Tony.

"Poor man! so awful for him, too," minced Miss Delmege. "He must have

been too uncomfortable for words."

"Not he," Miss Marsh told her with sudden defiance. "He brought poor

Gracie home, and delighted to have the chance. Come on, Gracie, let's go

to bed. You look done for."

She had grown very fond of her room-mate, in spite of all that she

regretfully looked upon as an absence of propriety in her conduct; and

when they were outside the sitting-room door, she said, without

troubling to lower her voice: "Don't you mind their nonsense, dear. You

couldn't help it, and _that_ Delmege has only got the pip because she

hadn't the chance of being brought home by Miss Vivian's cousin

herself."

And when they got upstairs she "turned down" Gracie's bed for her, and

put her kettle on to the gas-ring, and brought her an extra hot-water

bottle.

"There! Good-night, dear, and don't you worry. I think it was splendid

of you to tell the truth. Lots of girls would have fibbed, and said

they'd fainted, or something highfaluting of that nature. I should

myself."

"Thank you so much. You _are_ nice to me," said Grace warmly. She did

not look upon the affair herself as being more than a merely unfortunate

incident, but she knew that Miss Marsh regarded it as an overwhelming

scandal, and was proffering consolation accordingly.

Miss Marsh bent over the bed and tucked her in. "I'll turn out the gas,

and you must go straight to sleep. It's frightfully late. And look here,

Gracie, when we're alone together up here, I'd like you to call me Dora,

if you will. It's my name, you know."

X

"That settles it," said Char. "If this sort of thing is going to happen,

I _must_ be there. With no definite organization, there might be a panic

next time an air-raid takes place. According to Mrs. Willoughby, every

one made a dash for the basement, as it was. Women are such fools when

one leaves them to themselves!"

It was part of Char's policy always to disparage her own sex. It threw

into greater relief the contrast which she knew to exist between herself

and the majority of women-workers.

She was speaking to Miss Bruce, but, rather to her annoyance, Lady

Vivian came into the room in time to overhear her.

"Surely the basement was the most sensible place to dash for?" she

inquired, never able to resist an opportunity of attacking her

offspring's arrogantly expressed opinions. "As for your being there, in

my opinion, it's a very good thing you weren't. You'd only have drilled

the poor things out of their senses, which would have taken up more

valuable space in the basement."

"I should not have been in the basement," returned Char superbly.

"Then you might have been blown into bits, my dear, unless, as Director

of the Midland Supply Depôt, all enemy aircraft has orders to respect

your person?"

Joanna was jeering quite good-humouredly, as she generally did, and even

Miss Bruce saw some exaggeration in the white, tense silence with which

Char received these indifferent pleasantries.

"I hear the car," said the secretary, anxious to create a diversion.

"Miss Jones. Mother, I'm going through the work with her in here this

morning. There's no fire in the morning-room."

"Very well, Char. You won't disturb me in the least."

"I thought you were going to sit with father."

"Not yet. Besides, I want to see Miss Jones."

Char sighed patiently. At Plessing only the faithful Miss Bruce gave her

work that consideration to which she had become accustomed at the

office. She was finding Plessing almost intolerable. There were no

interviews, the telephone-bell was not allowed to ring, no one urged her

not to neglect the substantial meals which were served for her with the

greatest regularity, and Miss Jones daily assured her, with perfect

placidity, that the whole work at the office was progressing with

complete success without her.

The Director of the Midland Supply Depôt was completely shorn of her

glory.

And what was she doing, Char indignantly asked herself, while the

organization which she had practically made was thus abandoned to its

own resources?

Nothing.

She paid a purely perfunctory visit, morning and evening, to Sir Piers,

who hardly ever heard what she said to him, and had the rest of the day

at her own disposal. She had no share in the work of nursing, which was

divided between Lady Vivian and the professional nurse who had come from

London, and when she rather indignantly demanded of Dr. Prince whether

he did not think that he had better utilize her hospital experience at

Plessing, the doctor merely replied dryly: "Hospital experience, as you

call it, acquired on paper only, won't help you much here, or anybody

else either. Nurse Williams can do all that's necessary, and Sir Piers

doesn't want any one but Lady Vivian when he's awake."

"That's perfectly true," said Char sharply, "and that's why I can't help

thinking it's rather waste of time for an able-bodied woman with a

certain amount of brains to remain here unoccupied when there is so much

to be done elsewhere."

"You can take your mother for a walk every day. She is wise enough to

take an hour's exercise every afternoon, and Miss Bruce can't be much of

a companion. Besides," maliciously added the doctor, who had suffered

considerably under the Central Depôt's arbitrary interference with his

Hospital work, "it'll do you a lot of good to keep quiet for six months

or so. You've been suffering from overstrain, whether you know it or

not, and your work will be all the better for some relaxation. I assure

you, we haven't had a wrong enclosure sent us from the office since you

left."

Dr. Prince walked off very triumphantly after this parting gibe.

"Serve her right!" he thought to himself. "Conceited monkey! Perhaps I

shall get station transport for my cases properly put through now,

without her interference. Hospital experience, indeed!"

"Of course," said Char to Miss Bruce, "a country doctor is naturally

jealous of the R.A.M.C. men who've come to the fore. He's never forgiven

me for getting his Hospital run on a proper military basis."

"I'm sure he really admires your splendid work, dear, as anybody must,

but he's known you ever since you were tiny, so I suppose he allows

himself a certain amount of freedom."

Char supposed so too, sombrely enough, and prepared herself to extract

from Miss Jones an account of panic at the Canteen on the occasion of

the air-raid which should justify her in returning to her post, even in

the eyes of Dr. Prince.

Needless to say, Miss Jones was unsatisfactory.

"Oh no; there wasn't any sort of panic at all. Captain Trevellyan was

there, and asked us to go to the basement, and we just went."

"John tells me that they were perfectly splendid, all of them, and that

you set the first example," said Joanna cordially.

"The whole thing didn't last ten minutes," Grace told them. "We heard

all the noise, but didn't see anything. The men did, of course. They saw

the Zeppelin come down in the far distance. But by the time we came out

there was nothing. It was all over."

"What a shame!" exclaimed Joanna.

"I must institute a proper drill for air-raid alarms," said Char,

unsmiling. "That sort of haphazard _sauve qui peut_ is most unofficial.

I shall see about it directly I get back."

Joanna put up her lorgnon and looked at her daughter.

She did not speak, but something in her expression made Char exclaim

very decisively: "I can't desert my post at a time like this. Everybody

must see that unless I had any extremely definite call elsewhere, my

place is at the Depôt. The work is suffering horribly from this

piecemeal fashion of doing things."

She indicated Grace and her sheaf of bulging envelopes with a gesture of

condemnation.

Lady Vivian glanced from her daughter's set face to Grace Jones, whose

eyes were cast down. Then she left the room without speaking.

Char looked at her secretary, and said, very slowly and stiffly: "I

shall probably be back at the office tomorrow or Monday, Miss Jones. You

may tell the staff. Sir Piers's condition is not likely to alter at

present, and, in any case, the work comes before any personal

considerations at a time like this."

There was silence.

"Miss Jones!" said Char sharply.

Miss Jones lifted her great grey eyes and looked straight at the

Director of the Midland Supply Depôt.

She was not at all an eloquent person, but perceptions much less acute

than those of Char Vivian could have felt the intense, almost violent

hostility with which the atmosphere vibrated.

Then Grace dropped her eyes and said gently and coldly, in a tone as

remote as it was impersonal: "Yes, Miss Vivian."

The encounter had been a wordless one, and, indeed, Char knew that she

would never have allowed it to become anything else. The relative

positions of the Director of the Midland Supply Depôt and one of her

staff were far too clearly defined in her mind for that. But it left in

her a sort of cold, still anger, as well as an invincible determination.

That night Trevellyan dined at Plessing.

Lady Vivian did not come downstairs until dinner was over and they were

in the drawing-room. Then she took out some needlework. Sir Piers had

always liked to see her pretty hands working at what he generically

called "embroidery."

She sat down under the big standard lamp.

Disquiet was in the air, and Char knew that only the unperceptive

Trevellyan was unaware of an impending crisis. Miss Bruce fidgeted with

the fire-irons, dropped them, and apologized. As though a spell had been

broken, Joanna looked up and spoke.

"Char, I don't know if you realize that there can be no question of your

returning to the office tomorrow--or at all, for the present."

The attack had opened.

Char was glad of it, although a flare of resentment passed through her

mind that her mother should have sought a cowardly protection from a

possible scene in the presence of John Trevellyan.

"Why not?" she added quietly. "My father is no worse?"

"He is exactly the same. But I am not going to risk any shock or

vexation to him. He asked me this afternoon if you were at home, and was

glad when I said yes. You know he never liked your doing this excessive

amount of work."

"He never forbade it."

"He is not likely to forbid it. When has he ever forbidden you anything?

But he thinks that your place now is at home--which it very obviously

is."

"To do what?" asked Char, with rising bitterness, which she did not try

to keep out of her voice. "Does he ever ask for me? Am I of the

slightest use?"

"He sees you every day, and he might ask for you at any time. He wishes

you to remain at home for the present."

"It's not fair, it's not reasonable. I do _nothing_ here. I am of no

use. It's not as though he really wanted me. It's simply because

you--and he--won't be reminded of the war--of the ghastly horrors going

on all round us--won't think of the war, or let it be mentioned. You

want to shirk it all--"

"Don't, Char!" said John suddenly. "Don't say things you'll be sorry for

afterwards."

"No. I shall not be sorry for speaking the truth. _You_ know it's true,

Johnnie."

"True!" said Joanna. "What if it is true? Do you suppose that if I can

give him one little hour's comfort by ignoring the war, and keeping

every thought of it away from him, I wouldn't do so at any cost? The war

isn't your responsibility or mine--your father is."

She rose, and paced rapidly up and down the length of the room. Char had

never seen her mother give way to such impetuous agitation before. She

eyed her coldly, but strove to speak gently.

"Mother, if it was anything else I'd give in. But I _am_ doing work in

Questerham--real, absolutely necessary work--and here--why, I'm not even

justifying my existence."

"You're working here. You do a lot every day, going through all those

letters and things with Miss Jones," Trevellyan pointed out.

Joanna threw him a quick glance of gratitude.

"Work here, Char, as much as you like," she exclaimed eagerly. "You can

have any one you please out here--so long as they don't make a noise,"

she added hastily.

The expression was infelicitous.

"You talk as though I were a child, and wanted to have other children

out here to play with me. Good heavens, mother! I do you realize that my

work is _for the nation_, neither more nor less?"

"If I don't, it's not for want of being told," said her mother with

sudden dryness.

"It's easy to say that sort of thing, to accuse me of self-complacency

in the tiny little part I contribute to an enormous whole."

"It's not that, Char!" cried Joanna hastily. "I don't care if you have

megalomania in its acutest form"--Miss Bruce bounded irrepressibly on

her chair--"but I will _not_ have your father distressed. That's my one

and only concern. Johnnie, help me to make her understand."

"I do understand, mother," said Char. "You would sacrifice everything to

the personal question--women always do. But I can't see it like that.

The broader issue lies there, under my very eyes, and I can't shirk it."

"Johnnie!" said Joanna despairingly. "Tell her that she's blinding

herself."

"Can't you give it up, Char?" he asked her gently. "You can do work

here, you know, and let some one else carry on at Questerham."

"Yes, yes, a deputy. Some one who'll be under your orders," breathed

Miss Bruce eagerly.

She cordially wished her contribution to the discussion unuttered,

however, when it evoked from Johnnie the inspired suggestion: "Miss

Jones! Make her your deputy, Char, and the whole thing will go like a

house on fire."

Joanna, still pacing the room, gave a quick, short laugh, which made

Trevellyan look at her in wondering surprise, and Char in sudden anger.

"May I suggest--" Miss Bruce began timidly, and paused.

"Anything!" said Joanna brusquely.

"Couldn't Dr. Prince tell us whether there is any reason--anything to

fear--any danger," faltered Miss Bruce, becoming terribly involved.

Trevellyan came to her rescue.

"You mean whether there is likely to be any immediate change, for worse

or for better, in Sir Piers's condition?"

"Of course I couldn't go if my father was in immediate danger," quoth

Char impatiently. "But he's not. We've already been told so. He may go

on in this state for months and months. And at the end of a telephone!

Why, I could be sent for and be back here within an hour."

"I'm not discussing the question from that point of view at all," Joanna

told her. "The point is not that you should be at hand in case of any

crisis, but simply that he should not be vexed. Your insensate hours of

work at the Depôt vex him."

The words sounded oddly trivial, but no one doubted that Joanna was

angry, angrier than they had, any of them, ever seen her.

"Look here, Cousin Joanna, can't we settle this later on? There can be

no need to arrange it tonight," said John. "Suppose we let the Doctor

give the casting vote, as Miss Bruce suggested?"

He felt pretty sure that no vote of Dr. Prince's would ever be exercised

in favour of Char's immediate return to the Midland Supply Depôt.

"Dr. Prince is coming here tonight," said Lady Vivian. "He ought to be

here any minute now, if it's after nine."

"Ten past," said Miss Bruce, glancing at the clock.

"Neither he nor any one else can convince me that I ought to remain in

idleness when every worker in England is needed," said Char.

"My dear Char, you can't run any risks with Sir Piers in his present

condition," said John unexpectedly. "That's what we want Dr. Prince to

tell us--whether there is any danger to him if you persist in going

against his wishes."

Something of condemnation, such as Char had never yet heard in her

easy-going cousin's voice, silenced her. She felt bitterly that every

one was against her, no one understood.

Then Miss Bruce's hand came out timidly and patted her on the shoulder.

Dear old Brucey! Char recognized her fidelity in a sudden spasm of most

unwonted gratitude. Brucey at least knew that a real struggle was in

progress between Char's sense of patriotism and the pain that it

naturally gave her to resist the wishes of the parents whose point of

view she could not share.

For the first time since she was a child, Char felt moved to one of her

rare demonstrations of affection towards the faithful Miss Bruce. She

smiled at her, pain and gratitude mingling in her gaze, and let her hand

lie for a moment on the little secretary's.

Trevellyan leant against the chimney-piece, his hands in his pockets,

and looked at Joanna with inarticulate, uncomprehending loyalty and

admiration in his gaze.

She was pacing up and down the long room with a sort of restrained

impatience, the folds of her black dress sweeping round her tall figure

as she moved. In the silence, broken only by the rustling of Joanna's

gown, the approach of Dr. Prince's small, old-fashioned motor-car was

plainly audible.

Miss Bruce gave one timid look at Lady Vivian, then got up and went to

the door.

They heard her speak to the servant in the hall, and then she came back

again and took up her place close to Char.

"Did you ask him to come in here?"

"Yes, Lady Vivian. At least, I told them to show him in here."

Joanna resumed her restless pacing.

Then the drawing-room door opened and closed again upon the doctor,

entering with the stooping gait of a hard-worked, tired man at the end

of the day.

"Good-evening, Dr. Prince," said Joanna abruptly. "Will you give us the

benefit of your advice?"

"On whose account?" demanded the doctor, glancing sharply from one to

another of the group.

"It's just this," said Char's cool, incisive tones. "My mother wishes to

persuade me that my father is not in a fit state for me to take up my

work at Questerham again. That I ought to remain here, doing practically

nothing, while there's work crying out to be done."

"Sir Piers is in no immediate danger," said the doctor slowly. "In fact,

there is every reason to hope that he is getting better. Otherwise, I

suppose, you would hardly contemplate leaving home."

"But she's not suggesting leaving home!" cried Miss Bruce. "It's only a

case of going backwards and forwards every day."

The doctor shrugged his shoulders and glanced at Lady Vivian.

"Sir Piers doesn't wish it," said Joanna curtly. "Surely that's reason

enough. It distressed him very much, even before he was ill, that she

should go and do this office work."

"I see. Yes. The ideas of the present day are not very easily

assimilated by our generation," said the doctor gently.

He had often thought himself that Miss Vivian of Plessing had better

have worked with her needle or amongst the poor, as had done the great

ladies of his own generation, instead of in a Questerham office. But he

had also been rather ashamed of his thoughts, and would not for the

world have had them guessed by his pushing, good-natured wife, who was

proud to let her two daughters help at the Depôt.

"We live in abnormal times," Char said. "I'm not doing the work for my

own pleasure, but because the need for workers is desperate. I _can_ do

the job I've undertaken, and so far as I can see, there is no adequate

reason, unless my father gets very much worse, for me to desert it."

"It's not," said Miss Bruce judicially, "as though any one could take

her place at the Depôt."

"For the matter of that," Trevellyan remarked, with unexpected logic,

"it's not as though any one could take her place here."

"But that's just it!" cried Char. "I don't do anything at all here. Dr.

Prince, you know perfectly well that I don't; we spoke of it the other

day. Can you conscientiously tell me that my absence during the day is

going to make the slightest difference to my father's case?"

"No. Speaking professionally, I can't," said the doctor.

Joanna stopped in her walking and looked at him, but it was evident that

the doctor had not finished. He cleared his throat and faced Char.

"_But_ if you're trying, which you obviously are, to bamboozle me into

justifying you in taking your own way, Miss Charmian, then I'll tell you

something else. It's not the work you want to get back to, young lady;

it's the excitement, and the official position, and the right it gives

you to interfere with people who knew how to run a hospital and

everything connected with it some twenty years or so before you came

into the world. That's what _you_ want. I can't tell you, as a matter of

medical opinion, that it will bring on a second stroke, if you vex and

disappoint your good father by monkeying about in a becoming uniform and

a bit of gold braid on an office stool while he desires you to stay at

home; but I can and I do tell you that you're playing as heartless a

trick as any I ever saw, making patriotism the excuse for bullying a lot

of women who work themselves to death for you because you're of a better

class, and have more personality than themselves, and pretending to

yourself that it's the work you're after, when it's just because you

want to get somewhere where you'll be in the limelight all the time."

There was perfect silence, while the doctor took out a large

handkerchief and wiped his forehead.

At last Joanna said dryly: "Well, I don't know that I should have said

it myself, but upon my word, Char, I believe you've got the case in a

nutshell."

"No!" cried Miss Bruce. "It's unjust!"

Char looked at her, white and smiling.

"Yes, it's unjust enough," she said slowly. "But, as my mother has just

implied, it is her own opinion, apparently, as well as Dr. Prince's."

"No! no!" cried Joanna quickly, moving towards her daughter. "Not

altogether, Char. Only I can't have your father vexed--indeed, I can't."

"You are making it very hard for me. But my choice is made. I cannot,

and will not, let a personal consideration come before the work."

"You mean to go back?"

"On Monday--the day after tomorrow."

For a moment Char looked at them, superbly alone. Then she moved towards

the door. Miss Bruce, looking half frightened and half admiring, crept

after her, and Joanna made a sudden movement that caused Trevellyan to

put out his hand towards her.

"No, I'm not going to touch her. But if you go, Char, you'll stay in

Questerham. I won't have you coming back and disturbing the house and

waking him at all hours. I won't have you here at all, unless he asks

for you."

Char made a gesture of acquiescence, and went without a word from the

room.

"Oh!" cried Joanna, her blue eyes dark and her voice shaking, but

unconquerably colloquial in the midst of her pain and anger. "Oh, why in

Heaven's name didn't I whip Char when she was younger?"