u know." And she increased her pace until Mr. Lavender, who was not
within four inches of her stature, was almost compelled to trot. "If I
were a Tommy," she added, "I should want to shoot every man who uttered a
phrase. Really, at this time of day, they are the limit."

"Aurora," said Mr. Lavender, "if you will permit me, who am old enough
--alas!--to be your father, to call you that, you must surely be aware
that phrases are the very munitions of war, and certainly not less
important than mere material explosives. Take the word 'Liberty,' for
instance; would you deprive us of it?"

The young lady fixed on him those large grey eyes which had in them the
roll of genius. "Dear Don Pickwixote," she said, "I would merely take it
from the mouths of those who don't know what it means; and how much do
you think would be left? Not enough to butter the parsnips of a Borough
Council, or fill one leader in a month of Sundays. Have you not
discovered, Don Pickwixote, that Liberty means the special form of
tyranny which one happens to serve under; and that our form of tyranny is
GAS."

"High heaven!" cried Mr. Lavender, "that I should hear such words from so
red lips!"

"I've not been a Pacifist, so far," continued the young lady, stifling a
yawn, "because I hate cruelty, I hate it enough to want to be cruel to
it. I want the Huns to lap their own sauce. I don't want to be
revengeful, but I just can't help it."

"My dear young lady," said Mr. Lavender soothingly, "you are not--you
cannot be revengeful; for every great writer and speaker tells us that
revengefulness is an emotion alien to the Allies, who are merely just.

"Rats!"

At this familiar word, Blink who had been following their conversation
quietly, threw up her nose and licked the young lady's hand so
unexpectedly that she started and added:

"Darling!"

Mr. Lavender, who took the expression as meant for himself, coloured
furiously.

"Aurora," he said in a faint voice, "the rapture in my heart prevents my
taking advantage of your sweet words. Forgive me, and let us go quietly
in, with the vision I have seen, for I know my place."

The young lady's composure seemed to tremble in the balance, and her lips
twitched; then holding out her hand she took Mr. Lavender's and gave it a
good squeeze.

"You really are a dear," she said. "I think you ought to be in bed. My
name's Isabel, you know."

"Not to me," said Mr. Lavender. You are the Dawn; nothing shall persu