rank from the rough touches of a knock-about philosophy. After
all, it was but natural that he should.

He and Noel left after the first part of the concert, parting from
the other two at the door. He slipped his hand through her arm; and,
following out those thoughts of his in the concert-hall, asked:

"Do you like Captain Fort, Nollie?"

"Yes; he's a nice man."

"He seems a nice man, certainly; he has a nice smile, but strange views,
I'm afraid."

"He thinks the Germans are not much worse than we are; he says that a
good many of us are bullies too."

"Yes, that is the sort of thing I mean."

"But are we, Daddy?"

"Surely not."

"A policeman I talked to once said the same. Captain Fort says that
very few men can stand having power put into their hands without
being spoiled. He told me some dreadful stories. He says we have no
imagination, so that we often do things without seeing how brutal they
are."

"We're not perfect, Nollie; but on the whole I think we're a kind
people."

Noel was silent a moment, then said suddenly:

"Kind people often think others are kind too, when they really aren't.
Captain Fort doesn't make that mistake."

"I think he's a little cynical, and a little dangerous."

"Are all people dangerous who don't think like others, Daddy?"

Pierson, incapable of mockery, was not incapable of seeing when he was
being mocked. He looked at his daughter with a smile.

"Not quite so bad as that, Nollie; but Mr. Fort is certainly subversive.
I think perhaps he has seen too many queer sides of life."

"I like him the better for that."

"Well, well," Pierson answered absently. He had work to do in
preparation for a Confirmation Class, and sought his study on getting
in.

Noel went to the dining-room to drink her hot milk. The curtains were
not drawn, and bright moonlight was coming in. Without lighting up, she
set the etna going, and stood looking at the moon-full for the second
time since she and Cyril had waited for it in the Abbey. And pressing
her hands to her breast, she shivered. If only she could summon him from
the moonlight out there; if only she were a witch-could see him, know
where he was, what doing! For a fortnight now she had received no
letter. Every day since he had left she had read the casualty lists,
with the superstitious feeling that to do so would keep him out of them.
She took up the Times. There was just enough light, and she read the
roll of honour--till the moon