the story with the unblushing _savoir-faire_ of the very young.

"By the by, Ortheris, following the indications of his creator and
succumbing to the universal boredom before the rifles came, forgot Lord
Kitchener's advice and attempted 'seduktion.' With painful results which
he insists upon confiding to the entire platoon. He has been severely
smacked and scratched by the proposed victim, and warned off the
premises (licensed premises) by her father and mother--both formidable
persons. They did more than warn him off the premises. They had
displayed neither a proper horror of Don Juan nor a proper respect for
the King's uniform. Mother, we realise, got hold of him and cuffed him
severely. 'What the 'ell's a chap to do?' cried Ortheris. 'You can't go
'itting a woman back.' Father had set a dog on him. A less ingenuous
character would be silent about such passages--I should be too
egotistical and humiliated altogether--but that is not his quality. He
tells us in tones of naive wonder. He talks about it and talks about
it. 'I don't care what the old woman did,' he says, 'not--reely. What
'urts me about it is that I jest made a sort of mistake 'ow _she'd_ tike
it. You see, I sort of feel I've 'urt and insulted _'er_. And reely I
didn't mean to. Swap me, I didn't mean to. Gawd 'elp me. I wouldn't 'ave
'ad it 'appened as it 'as 'appened, not for worlds. And now I can't get
round to 'er, or anyfing, not to explain.... You chaps may laugh, but
you don't know what there is _in_ it.... I tell you it worries me
something frightful. You think I'm just a little cad who took liberties
he didn't ought to. (Note of anger drowning uncharitable grunts of
assent.) 'Ow the 'ell is 'e to know _when_ 'e didn't ought to? ... I
_swear_ she liked me....'

"This kind of thing goes on for hours--in the darkness.

"'I'd got regular sort of fond of 'er.'

"And the extraordinary thing is it makes me begin to get regular fond of
Ortheris.

"I think it is because the affair has surprised him right out of acting
Ortheris and Tommy Atkins for a bit, into his proper self. He's
frightfully like some sort of mongrel with a lot of wiry-haired terrier
and a touch of Airedale in it. A mongrel you like in spite of the
flavour of all the horrid things he's been nosing into. And he's as hard
as nails and, my dear daddy! he can't box for nuts."

Section 5

Mr. Britling, with an understanding much quickened by Hugh's letters,
went about Essex in his au