."

She turned, and there in the doorway stood Don. Less than three months
had elapsed since his last leave and Flamby was intensely surprised to
see him. She came forward with outstretched hands. "Oh, Don," she cried.
"How lovely! However did you manage it?"

An exquisite blush stained her cheeks, and her eyes lighted up happily.
Glad surprises made her blush, and she was very sincerely glad as well
as surprised to see Don. She had not even heard him approach. She had
been wondering what Devonshire was like, for Paul was in Devonshire. Now
as Don took both her hands and smiled in the old joyous way she thought
that he looked ill, almost cadaverous, in spite of the tan which clung
to his skin.

"Craft, Flamby, guile and the subtlety of the serpent. The best men get
the worst leave."

"I don't believe it," said Flamby, watching him in sudden anxiety. "You
have been ill. Oh, don't think you can pretend to _me_; I can see you
have."

"Bad," remarked Lorenzo in cordial agreement. He had finished the sugar.
"Damn bad."

"What!" cried Don--"have you got old Crozier's Lorenzo down here? Hullo!
let us see how you have 'percepted' him." He crossed to the easel,
surveying Flamby's painting critically. "Does Hammett still talk about
'percepting the subject' and 'emerging the high-lights' and 'profunding
the shadows'?"

"He does. You're mean not to tell me."

"What do you want me to tell you, Flamby?--that the drawing is
magnificent and the painting brilliant except for the treatment of the
bill, which is _too_ brilliant." He turned and met her reproachful gaze.
"Perhaps I _am_ mean, Flamby, to frighten you by not replying to your
question, but really I am quite fit. I have had a touch of trench-fever
or something, not enough to result in being sent home to hospital, and
have now got a few days' sick-leave to pull round after a course of weak
gruel."

"That's very unusual, isn't it?"

"What, Flamby?"

"To get home leave after treatment at a base hospital? I mean they might
as well have sent you home in the first place."

Don stared at her long and seriously. "Flamby," he said, "you have been
flirting with junior subalterns. No one above the rank of a
second-lieutenant ever knew so much about King's Regulations."

"Own up, then."

Don continued the serious stare. "Flamby," he said, "your father would
have been proud of you. You are a very clever girl. If art fails there
is always the Bar. I am not advising you to