uld
I hurry? Besides, I am in mourning."

"Exactly as you like," said Grange gently. "My leave will be up in
September, as you know, but I am not bound to stay in the Army. I will
send in my papers if you wish it."

Muriel looked at him in amazement. "Send in your papers! Why no,
Blake! I wouldn't have you do it for the world. I never dreamed of
such a thing."

He smiled good-humouredly. "Well, of course, I should be sorry to
give up polo, but there are plenty of other things I could take to.
Personally, I like a quiet existence."

Was there just a shade of scorn in Muriel's glance as it fell away
from him? It would have been impossible for any bystander to say with
certainty, but there was without doubt a touch of constraint in her
voice as she made reply.

"Yes. You are quite the most placid person I know. But please don't
think of leaving the Army for my sake. I am a soldier's daughter
remember. And--I like soldiers."

Her lip quivered as she turned to enter the house. Her heart at that
moment was mourning over a soldier's unknown grave. But Grange did not
know it, did not even see that she was moved.

His eyes were raised to an upper window at which a dim figure stood
looking out into the shadows. And he was thinking of other things.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE ETERNAL FLAME

Daisy maintained her resolution on the following day, and though she
did not speak again of going downstairs, she insisted that Muriel
should return to the hockey-field and resume her place in Olga's team.
It was the last match of the season, and she would not hear of her
missing it.

"You and Blake are both to go," she said. "I won't have either of you
staying at home for me."

But Blake, when Muriel conveyed this message to him, moodily shook his
head. "I'm not going. I don't want to. You must, of course. It will do
you good. But I couldn't play if I went. I've strained my wrist."

"Oh, have you?" Muriel said, with concern. "What a nuisance! How did
you manage it?"

He reddened, and looked slightly ashamed. "I vaulted the gate into the
meadow this morning. Idiotic thing to do. But I shall be all right.
Never mind about me. I shall smoke in the garden. I may go for a
walk."

Thus pressed on all sides, though decidedly against her own
inclination, Muriel went. The day was showery with brilliant
intervals. Grange saw her off at the field-gate.

"Plenty of mud," he remarked.

"Yes, I shall be a spectacle when I come back.