."

The old lady's lips moved at the corners; she did not answer. 'Deaf!' he
thought.

"May I ask if you knew my friends, Doctor and Mrs. Laird, and Miss
Pierson?"

The old lady cackled gently.

"Oh, yes! A pretty young girl; as pretty as life. She used to sit with
me. Quite a pleasure to watch her; such large eyes she had."

"Where have they gone? Can you tell me?"

"Oh, I don't know at all."

It was a little cold douche on his heart. He longed to say: 'Stop
knitting a minute, please. It's my life, to know.' But the tune of the
needles answered: 'It's my life to knit.' And he turned away to the
window.

"She used to sit just there; quite still; quite still."

Fort looked down at the window-seat. So, she used to sit just here,
quite still.

"What a dreadful war this is!" said the old lady. "Have you been at the
front?"

"Yes."

"To think of the poor young girls who'll never have husbands! I'm sure I
think it's dreadful."

"Yes," said Fort; "it's dreadful--" And then a voice from the doorway
said:

"Did you want Doctor and Mrs. Laird, sir? East Bungalow their address
is; it's a little way out on the North Road. Anyone will tell you."

With a sigh of relief Fort looked gratefully at the old lady who had
called Noel as pretty as life. "Good afternoon, ma'am."

"Good afternoon." The needles clicked, and little movements occurred at
the corners of her mouth. Fort went out. He could not find a vehicle,
and was a long time walking. The Bungalow was ugly, of yellow brick
pointed with red. It lay about two-thirds up between the main road and
cliffs, and had a rock-garden and a glaring, brand-new look, in the
afternoon sunlight. He opened the gate, uttering one of those prayers
which come so glibly from unbelievers when they want anything. A baby's
crying answered it, and he thought with ecstasy: 'Heaven, she is here!'
Passing the rock-garden he could see a lawn at the back of the house and
a perambulator out there under a holm-oak tree, and Noel--surely Noel
herself! Hardening his heart, he went forward. In a lilac sunbonnet she
was bending over the perambulator. He trod softly on the grass, and was
quite close before she heard him. He had prepared no words, but just
held out his hand. The baby, interested in the shadow failing across its
pram, ceased crying. Noel took his hand. Under the sunbonnet, which hid
her hair, she seemed older and paler, as if she felt the heat. He had