went
together. He remembered talking a great deal to the padre in the cab,
about the public school they had both been at, and thinking: 'It's a good
padre--this!' He remembered how their taxi took them to an old Square
which he did not know, where the garden trees looked densely black in the
starshine. He remembered that a man outside the house had engaged the
padre in earnest talk, while the tall child and himself stood in the open
doorway, where the hall beyond was dark. Very exactly he remembered the
little conversation which then took place between them, while they waited
for her father.

"Is it very horrid in the trenches, Captain Fort?"

"Yes, Miss Pierson; it is very horrid, as a rule."

"Is it dangerous all the time?"

"Pretty well."

"Do officers run more risks than the men?"

"Not unless there's an attack."

"Are there attacks very often?"

It had seemed to him so strangely primitive a little catechism, that he
had smiled. And, though it was so dark, she had seen that smile, for her
face went proud and close all of a sudden. He had cursed himself, and
said gently:

"Have you a brother out there?"

She shook her head.

"But someone?"

"Yes."

Someone! He had heard that answer with a little shock. This child--this
fairy princess of a child already to have someone! He wondered if she
went about asking everyone these questions, with that someone in her
thoughts. Poor child! And quickly he said:

"After all, look at me! I was out there a year, and here I am with only
half a game leg; times were a lot worse, then, too. I often wish I were
back there. Anything's better than London and the War Office." But just
then he saw the padre coming, and took her hand. "Good night, Miss
Pierson. Don't worry. That does no good, and there isn't half the risk
you think."

Her hand stirred, squeezed his gratefully, as a child's would squeeze.

"Good night," she murmured; "thank you awfully."

And, in the dark cab again, he remembered thinking: 'Fancy that child! A
jolly lucky boy, out there! Too bad! Poor little fairy princess!'

PART II

I

1

To wash up is not an exciting operation. To wash up in August became for
Noel a process which taxed her strength and enthusiasm. She combined it
with other forms of instruction in the art of nursing, had very little
leisure, and in the evenings at home would often fall asleep curled up in
a large chintz-covered chair.

George and G