unded incredulous--"you know how one feels over our soldiers coming
home--and a boy who has given his right arm for England. It makes one
so choky and yet so proud--I can't say all I mean--but you know--"

"Yes, I know," said Lady Mary; and she smiled, but the tears were
rolling down her cheeks.

"And what it must be to _you_," sobbed Sarah, "the day you were to
have been so happy, to see him come back like _that_! No wonder you
are sad. One feels one could never do enough to--to make it up to
him."

"But I'm far more happy than sad," said Lady Mary; and to prove her
words she leant back upon the cushions and cried.

"You're not," said Sarah, kneeling by her; "how can you be, my
darling, sweet Lady Mary? But you _must_ be happy," she said; and her
odd, deep tones took a note of coaxing that was hard to resist. "Think
how proud every one will be of him, and how--how all the other mothers
will envy you! You--you mustn't care so terribly. It--it isn't as if
he had to work for his living. It won't make any real difference to
his life. And he'll let you do everything for him--even write his
letters--"

"Oh, Sarah, Sarah, stop!" said Lady Mary, faintly. "It--it isn't
that."

"Not that!" said Sarah, changing her tone. She pounced on the
admission like a cat on a mouse. "Then why do you cry?"

Lady Mary looked up confused into the severely inquiring young face.

Sarah's apple-blossom beauty, as was to have been expected, had
increased a thousand-fold since her school girl days. She had grown
tall to match the plumpness of her figure, which had not decreased.
Her magnificent hair showed its copper redness in every variety of
curl and twist upon her white forehead, and against her whiter throat.

She was no longer dressed in blue cotton. Lady Tintern knew how to
give such glorious colouring its true value. A gauzy, transparent
black flowed over a close-fitting white gown beneath, and veiled her
fair arms and neck. Black bebe ribbon gathered in coquettishly the
folds which shrouded Sarah's abundant charms, and a broad black sash
confined her round young waist. A black chip hat shaded the glowing
hair and the face, "ruddier than the cherry, and whiter than milk;"
and the merry, dark blue eyes had a penthouse of their own, of
drooping lashes, which redeemed the boldness of their frank and open
gaze.

"If it is not that--why do you cry?" she demanded imperiously.

"It's--just happiness," said Lady Mary.

Sarah looked