spiciously.

"Yes, Joseph telegraphed."

"To whom?" sharply.

"To Maurice."

Jack Meredith nodded his head. It was perhaps just as well that the
communicative Joseph was not there at that moment.

"We did not expect you for another ten days," said Meredith after a
little pause, as if anxious to change the subject. "Marie said that your
brother's leave was not up until the week after next."

Jocelyn turned away, apparently to close the window. She hesitated. She
could not tell him what had brought them back sooner--what had demanded
of Maurice Gordon the sacrifice of ten days of his holiday.

"We do not always take our full term," she said vaguely.

And he never saw it. The vanity of man is a strange thing. It makes him
see intentions that were never conceived; and without vanity to guide
his perception man is as blind a creature as walks upon this earth.

"However," he said, as if to prove his own density, "I am selfishly
very glad that you had to come back sooner. Not only on account of the
delicacies--I must ask you to believe that. Did my eye brighten at the
mention of Fortnum and Mason? I am afraid it did."

She laughed softly. She did not pause to think that it was to be her
daily task to tend him and help to make him stronger in order that he
might go away without delay. She only knew that every moment of the next
few weeks was going to be full of a greater happiness than she had ever
tasted. As we get deeper into the slough of life most of us learn to be
thankful that the future is hidden--some of us recognise the wisdom and
the mercy which decree that even the present be only partly revealed.

"As a matter of fact," she said lightly, "I suppose that you loathe all
food?"

"Loathe it," he replied. He was still looking at her, as if in enjoyment
of the Englishness and freshness of which he had spoken. "Simply loathe
it. All Joseph's tact and patience are required to make me eat even
eleven meals in the day. He would like thirteen."

At this moment Maurice came in--Maurice--hearty, eager, full of life.
He blustered in almost as Joseph had prophesied, kicking the furniture,
throwing his own vitality into the atmosphere. Jocelyn knew that he
liked Jack Meredith--and she knew more. She knew, namely, that Maurice
Gordon was a different man when Jack Meredith was in Loango. From
Meredith's presence he seemed to gather a sense of security and comfort
even as she did--a sense which in herself she understood