thing," she said in a muffled voice. "It's all
right."

"Chere mademoiselle!" Lavendie murmured; and all the way home he was
timid and distressed. Shaking his hand at the door, she murmured:

"I'm sorry I was such a fool; and thank you awfully, monsieur. Good
night."

"Good night; and better dreams. There is a good time coming--Peace
and Happiness once more in the world. It will not always be this
Forcing-House. Good night, chere mademoiselle!"

Noel went up to the nursery, and stole in. A night-light was burning,
Nurse and baby were fast asleep. She tiptoed through into her own room.
Once there, she felt suddenly so tired that she could hardly undress;
and yet curiously rested, as if with that rush of emotion, Cyril and the
past had slipped from her for ever.

III

Noel's first encounter with Opinion took place the following day. The
baby had just come in from its airing; she had seen it comfortably
snoozing, and was on her way downstairs, when a voice from the hall
said:

"How do you do?" and she saw the khaki-clad figure of Adrian Lauder, her
father's curate! Hesitating just a moment, she finished her descent, and
put her fingers in his. He was a rather heavy, dough-coloured young man
of nearly thirty, unsuited by khaki, with a round white collar buttoned
behind; but his aspiring eyes redeemed him, proclaiming the best
intentions in the world, and an inclination towards sentiment in the
presence of beauty.

"I haven't seen you for ages," he said rather fatuously, following her
into her father's study.

"No," said Noel. "How--do you like being at the Front?"

"Ah!" he said, "they're wonderful!" And his eyes shone. "It's so nice to
see you again."

"Is it?"

He seemed puzzled by that answer; stammered, and said:

"I didn't know your sister had a baby. A jolly baby."

"She hasn't."

Lauder's mouth opened. 'A silly mouth,' she thought.

"Oh!" he said. "Is it a protegee--Belgian or something?"

"No, it's mine; my own." And, turning round, she slipped the little ring
off her finger. When she turned back to him, his face had not recovered
from her words. It had a hapless look, as of one to whom such a thing
ought not to have happened.

"Don't look like that," said Noel. "Didn't you understand? It's
mine-mine." She put out her left hand. "Look! There's no ring."

He stammered: "I say, you oughtn't to--you oughtn't to--!"

"What?"

"Joke about--about such things; ought you?"

"One doesn'