hat kind of a book?'

'Oh, I've got some novels, and some Nat Goulds, and Pamela's given
me some war-books. Don't know if I shall read 'em!--Well, I'd like a
small Horace, if you can find one. "My tutor" was an awfully good
hand at Horace. He really did make me like the old chap! And have
you got such a thing as a Greek Anthology that wouldn't take up much
room?'

Elizabeth went to the shelves to look. Desmond as the possessor of
literary tastes was a novelty to her. But, after all, she understood
that he had been a half in the Sixth at Eton, before his cadet
training began. She found him two small pocket editions, and the boy
thanked her gratefully. He began to turn over the Anthology, as
though searching for something.

'Can I help you to find anything?' she asked him.

'No--it's something I remember,' he said absently, and presently
hit upon it, with a look of pleasure.

'They did know a thing or two, didn't they? That's fine anyway?' He
handed her the book. 'But I forget some of the words. Do you mind
giving me a construe?' he said humbly.

Elizabeth translated, feeling rather choky.

'"On the Spartans at Thermopylae.

'"Him--"'

'That's Xerxes, of course,' put in Desmond.

'"Him, who changed the paths of earth and sea, who sailed upon the
mainland, and walked upon the deep--him did Spartan valour hold
back, with just three hundred spears. Shame on you, mountains and
seas!"'

'Well, that's all right, isn't it?' said the boy simply, looking up.
'Couldn't put it better if you tried, could you?' Then he said,
hesitating a little as he turned down the leaf, and put the book in
his pocket, 'Five of the fellows who were in the Sixth with me this
time last year are dead by now. It makes you think a bit, doesn't
it?--Hullo, there is father!'

He turned joyously, his young figure finely caught in the light of
Elizabeth's lamp against the background of the Nike.

'Well, father you have been a time! I thought you'd forgotten
altogether I was off to-night.'

'The train was abominably late. Travelling is becoming a perfect
nuisance! I gave the station-master a piece of my mind,' said the
Squire angrily.

'And I expect he said that you civilians jolly well have to wait for
the munition trains!'

'He muttered some nonsense of that sort. I didn't listen to him.'
The Squire threw himself down in an arm-chair. Desmond perched on
the corner of a table near. Elizabeth discreetly took up her work
and disappeared.