in
a haze of smoke and the kindly distance.

"You see," she said, "you can almost see the harbour from your house.
That's where the ships lie when they come in here. This is your abode.
They'll send your luggage up presently. I hope you'll be comfortable.
No, I won't come in now. I expect you're tired after travelling all
night. You must come and have tea with me, and meet some of the
others." She laughed and turned to descend the hill, stopping again a
few paces down to wave a friendly stick.

Etta Clavering occupied a low-ceilinged room above a baker's shop in
the village, and had strewn it about with books and photographs and
nick-nacks until the drab surroundings seemed to reflect a little of
her dainty personality. Thither, later in the day, she took Betty off
to tea and introduced her to a tall fair girl with abundant hair and a
gentle, rippling laugh that had in it the quality of running water.

"We belong to the same squadron," she said. "I'm glad we've met now,
because directly our husbands' ships come in we shall never see each
other!" She turned to Etta Clavering. "It's like that up here, isn't
it? We sit in each other's laps all day till our husbands arrive, and
then we simply can't waste a minute to be civil ...!"

She laughed her soft ripple of amusement, cut short by the entrance of
another visitor. She was older than the other three: a sweet, rather
grave-faced woman with patient eyes that looked as if they had watched
and waited through a great many lonelinesses. There was something
tender, almost protecting, in her smile as she greeted Betty.

"You have only just come North, haven't you?" she asked. "The latest
recruit to our army of--waiters, I was going to say, but it sounds
silly. Waitresses hardly seems right either, does it? Anyhow, I hope
you won't have to wait for very long."

"I hope not," said Betty, a trifle forlornly.

"So do I," said the tall fair girl whose name was Eileen Cavendish. "I
am developing an actual liver out of sheer jealousy of some of these
women whose husbands are on leave. When Bill comes I shall hang on his
arm in my best 'clinging-ivy-and-the-oak' style, and walk him up and
down outside the hateful creatures' windows! It'll be _their_ turn to
gnash their teeth then!"

Betty joined in the laughter. "Are there many of--of Us up here?" she
asked.

"There are as many as the village will hold, and every farm and byre
and cow-shed for about six mi