were useful on these occasions, and at
the end of the half hour were excellent examples of the shape of my
teeth! They were practically the only parts completely uninjured, and I
knew that whatever happened I could still play the violin again.

I could not understand why one leg had jumping nerves and the other
apparently had none and argued that the one must be half-broken to
account for it. The B.E.F. specialist also paid frequent visits.

Then one evening, the third or fourth I think, Captain C. came in and
sat down in the shadow, looking very grave.

I think it must have been one of the worst half-hours he ever spent. It
is not a job any man would relish to tell someone who is particularly
fond of life that they have lost one leg and the other has only just
been saved! I was speechless for some minutes; in fact I refused to
believe it. It took a long time for the full horror of the situation to
dawn on me. It will seem odd that I did not feel I had lost my leg, but
one never has that sensation even when on crutches; the nerves are
unfortunately too much alive.

Captain C. stayed a long time and the evening drew on but still he sat
there and talked to me quietly in the darkness. I wondered why I
couldn't cry, but somehow it seemed to have nothing to do with me at
all. I was not the girl who had lost a leg. It was merely someone else I
was hearing about. "Jolly bad luck on them," I thought, "rotten not to
be able to run about any more."

Then my leg jumped and it began to dawn on me that I was the girl to
whom those things had happened. Still, I could not cry. Useless to urge
how lucky it was my knee had just been saved. What use was a knee, I
thought bitterly, if I could never fly round again! When was the very
soonest I could get about with one of these artificial legs, I asked,
and he swore to me that if all went well, in a year's time. A year! I
had fancied the autumn at latest. Little did I know it would be even
longer. That night was the worst I'd had. It is a useless occupation to
kick against the pricks anyway, and the hours dragged slowly on till
morning came at last. When it was light enough I looked round, as well
as I could at least, lying flat on my back, for something to distract my
thoughts. Seeing a _Pearson's Magazine_ with George Robey on the cover,
I drew it towards me and saw there was an article by him inside. Quite
sure that "George" would cheer me up if anyone could I turned the pages
and