them still
more; and now comes Mrs. Holmes to tell me of Randall's mysterious
disappearance.

"A plague on the whole lot!" I exclaimed wrathfully.

I dined that evening with the Fenimores. My dear Betty was there too,
the only other guest, looking very proud and radiant. A letter that
morning from Willie Connor informed her that the regiment, by holding a
trench against an overwhelming German attack, had achieved glorious
renown. The Brigadier-General had specially congratulated the Colonel,
and the Colonel had specially complimented Willie on the magnificent
work of his company. Of course there was a heavy price in
casualties--poor young Etherington, whom we all knew, for instance,
blown to atoms--but Willie, thank God! was safe.

"I wonder what would happen to me, if Willie were to get the V.C. I
think I should go mad with pride!" she exclaimed with flushed cheeks,
forgetful of poor young Etherington, a laughter-loving boy of twenty,
who had been blown to atoms. It is strange how apparently callous this
universal carnage has made the noblest and the tenderest of men and
women. We cling passionately to the lives of those near and dear to us.
But as to those near and dear to others, who are killed--well--we pay
them the passing tribute not even of a tear, but only of a sign. They
died gloriously for their country. What can we say more? If we--we
survivors, not only invalids and women and other stay-at-homes, but
also comrades on the field--were riven to our souls by the piteous
tragedy of splendid youth destroyed in its flower, we could not stand
the strain, we should weep hysterically, we should be broken folk. But
a merciful Providence steps in and steels our hearts. The loyal hearts
are there beating truly; and in order that they should beat truly and
stoutly, they are given this God-sent armour.

So, when we raised our glasses and drank gladly to the success of
Willie Connor the living, and put from our thoughts Frank Etherington
the dead, you must not account it to us as lack of human pity. You must
be lenient in your judgment of those who are thrown into the furnace of
a great war.

Lady Fenimore smiled on Betty. "We should all be proud, my dear, if
Captain Connor won the Victoria Cross. But you mustn't set your heart
on it. That would be foolish. Hundreds of thousands of men deserve the
V.C. ten times a day, and they can't all be rewarded."

Betty laughed gaily at good Lady Fenimore's somewhat didactic rep