you saw me, eh, Meredyth?"

"What was that?" asked Mrs. Boyce.

"He nearly burned his fingers," said I, shortly. I had no desire to
relate the incident.

We talked of the coming ceremony and I gave them the details of the
programme. Boyce had been right in accepting on the score of his
mother. Only once had she been the central figure in any public
ceremony--on her wedding day, in the years long ago. Here was a new
kind of wedding day in her old age. The prospect filled her with a
tremulous joy which was to both of them a compensation. She bubbled
over with pride and excitement at her inclusion in the homage that was
to be paid to the valour of her only son.

"After all," she said, "I did bring him into the world. So I can claim
some credit. I only hope I shan't cry and make a fool of myself. They
won't expect me to keep on bowing, will they? I once saw Queen Victoria
driving through the streets, and I thought how dreadfully her poor old
neck must have ached."

On the latter point I reassured her. On the drive from the station
Boyce would take the salute of the troops on the line of route. If she
smiled charmingly on them, their hearts would be satisfied, and if she
just nodded at them occasionally in a motherly sort of way, they would
be enchanted. She informed me that she was having a new dress made for
the occasion. She had also bought a new hat, which I must see. A
servant was summoned and dispatched for it. She tried it on girlishly
before the mirror over the mantelpiece, and received my compliments.

"Tell me what it looks like," said Boyce.

You might as well ask a savage in Central Africa to describe the
interior of a submarine as the ordinary man to describe a woman's hat.
My artless endeavours caused considerable merriment. To hear Boyce's
gay laughter one would have thought he had never a care in the world ...

When I took my leave, Mrs. Boyce accompanied Marigold and myself to the
front door.

"Did you ever hear of anything so dreadful?" she whispered, and I saw
her lips quivering and the tears rolling down her cheeks. "If he
weren't so brave and wonderful, I should break my heart."

"What do you suppose you are yourself, my dear old friend," said I over
Marigold's shoulder.

I went away greatly comforted. Both of them were as brave as could be.
For the first time I took a more cheerful view of Boyce's future.

On the evening before the Reception Betty was shown into the library.
It was late,